Beyond the Lines
by SlowQuotesQuill
Summary: It was the only unsolved crime that haunted him these last two years—the apparent death, and disappearance, of Chitanda Eru. And now, finally graduated from Kamiyama High, nineteen-year-old Oreki Houtarou finds evidence that she may still be alive, and finally takes up the biggest mystery of his life—that of Eru's absence from it.
1. Single Step

**Beyond the Lines**

* * *

_Like a miracle our lives came together  
__And became silhouettes in a bustling scene  
__An epilogue so dazzling I could cry  
__Filled with emotion I could write it on the sky_

—**Topology**, Itou Kanako (trans.)

* * *

_Single Step_

* * *

And then he wasn't alone. At least not for the moment.

Oreki Tomoe touched her little brother's shoulder sympathetically from behind as he slouched on the sofa, the atmosphere between them as thick as cream. Houtarou didn't try to shrug her hand off, which she took as a good sign. She knew that he knew that she'll be bringing up the topic that she'll have brought up already for a thousand times since the incident, and so opened her mouth to speak, as to not let the heaviness extend its stay even longer.

"Houtarou," she began rather awkwardly, squeezing his shoulder with reassuring weight when he stayed silent. She couldn't be sure, but she thought he looked more downcast than usual, a product of his brooding too much on things. Especially when it's about _her_. Chitanda Eru. _My little brother's tragic first love._ "Are you visiting her today?"

He nodded once, some of his wavy hair settling to the left as he rested his head back on a tilted position. She, almost automatically, grabbed a stray lock of his hair and twirled it absently around her finger, letting him find a proper footing to elaborate as she indulged in her favorite habit of playing with Houtarou's hair.

"I can't think of anything to bring her," he finally admitted, a sigh escaping at the end of his sentence.

"How about some rice balls?" she suggested, simply. "I can make some quickly before you go for you to take to her."

"No, aneki," he said with a sudden determination that threw her. He never sounded this stubborn about himself intentionally making an effort except whenever _she_ was concerned. Tomoe felt a soft smile curl her lips for this little brother of hers who didn't seem so little anymore. "Teach me how to, instead. I'll make them myself."

"That's a good idea. She'll like that better." She let go of his hair, watching the strands that she had disturbed settle into loose rings and then completely lose the shape, going back to their natural curl. "What time are you planning to go anyway?"

"Sometime this afternoon… I haven't decided yet." Houtarou stood up unsteadily, easily dwarfing Tomoe by a couple of inches as he walked past her and into the kitchen. He turned and scowled at her bemusedly when she just remained where she stood. "What are you waiting for, aneki?"

"If you have to do it, make it quick, eh?" Tomoe said with a broad smile, quoting from her brother's motto. "Well, prepare the rice first…"

"There's some leftover from lunch. Will that do?"

"Nicely."

Houtarou quickly fell into a rhythm when he finally got the hang of it, finishing six small rice balls in a matter of minutes and arranging them neatly in one of his old but clean lunch boxes. Beside him, Tomoe watched his work silently, noticing that even with his terrible posture, his recent growth spurts were noticeable. He had been standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her just months ago, and now he had to look down on her to meet her eyes. The thought of the changes that she had appreciated just now made her, irrationally, terribly sad.

"Finished?" she asked him gently as he put the lid over the box, green eyes staring moodily at it before placing it on the dining table to take later. "Are you taking anything else with you?"

"This year's _Hyouka_," he said finally, after thinking for a bit. "I think she'd want to see what we put in it this year. After all, it's our graduation issue." She could almost see the conflict in his eyes. _Almost._

She crossed her arms. "I'm gonna pack your things in a bag then. Pick your outfit already so that you can go quickly later."

He let out a short exhale of breath, which she took as a sort of "okay", and when he was gone upstairs to think about things to himself (and hopefully to actually act on her advice), Tomoe went on to grab the box from the table and search for a bag comfortable enough to contain everything he might need for his visit.

After settling for Houtarou's old blue standard-issue schoolbag, which was standing quite dejectedly on a corner, already abandoned by its recently-graduated owner, she absentmindedly slid the box in, feeling its weight settle on the bottom of the bag. Tracing the zipper with her finger, she wondered if Houtarou still felt that he was to blame for the incident. _Of course he still does,_ she answered herself, frowning. Houtarou was someone who rarely blames himself, but whenever he does, he blames himself hard. _He never was one to back out from responsibility. _She also wondered whether the Chitandas also secretly blamed him for it. _Possible, but they knew that Houtarou did everything he could to save her. No one could have predicted what had happened next._

"Aneki?" She heard Houtarou's muffled voice from his room upstairs, and she ditched the bag right away to see what his query was. Her feet felt strangely heavy.

"What was it?" she asked him when she reached him, standing by the doorway to his room.

"I can't find my watch. Did you hide it again?" He huffed silently as she laughed, half-confirming his accusations.

"Come on, I just borrowed it for a bit. My watch ran out of batteries the other day, so I helped myself. You did leave it scattered on your desk." She went to her room and retrieved the watch in question, the old leather straps smooth against her palm. "Here you go." She considered flinging the object back and watch him curse and miss as per usual, but thinking that he had a lot on his plate right now without herself adding as an annoyance, she handed it back properly instead with a playful ruffle of his hair. When he had closed the door behind him, Tomoe went back downstairs and swiped Houtarou's umbrella off the stand, putting it in the bag along with a blanket that she had acquired earlier when she looked for the watch. The incense, the lighter, and a bottle of water followed it inside, along with some snacks if Houtarou should feel famished after the walk.

Setting the now-plump bag on the sofa, she finally heard Houtarou's heavy footfalls on the stairs, and she swiveled to see him in a casual dark short-sleeved shirt, coupled with simple faded jeans. In his hand, he held a tightly rolled-up copy of this year's _Hyouka_, the light purple cover standing out in the gloom of the light.

"You're going now?" she asked, surprised that he had already dressed when she just told him to get out his clothes.

"Might as well." He looked restless, she noticed. Tomoe can hardly blame him—the day was getting rather cloudy. He took the bag as Tomoe held it out nonchalantly, and padded his way to the door. He stepped in his shoes and turned back to Tomoe, his expression bland. "I'm off, then."

"Have a safe trip," Tomoe dutifully called back, and the Oreki siblings finally parted when Houtarou closed the front door behind him.

* * *

The walk was quite short, the silhouette of the hill where the Arekusu shrine was built immediately noticeable after a few minutes of traveling dispiritedly on the road. Tugging his bag higher on his shoulder, he squared his shoulders and began the long walk up the steep stone steps to Arekusu, his shoes hitting against stone the only sounds that he can hear in the long ascent. He felt almost numb as his legs started to ache.

When he finally reached the top, his face sweating with the effort, he immediately went straight to the family tombs on the back of the main shrine, the hand clutching the anthology closing even tighter. He always felt nervous whenever he went up to see the Chitandas' family tomb when the anniversary of her disappearance came around. Her "disappearance"… The term was bitter on his tongue, the people around him taking for granted that that was what he chose to euphemize to mention her death. Well, they would be right.

"Chi—tan—_da_," he huffed, finally spotting the row of markers with the Chitanda family names. Chitanda Eru's ended the row, the carvings much fresher than the ones that came before it.

"Here you are." Forcing himself to act normal, Houtarou squatted down in front of the grave and opened his bag, finding that the blanket that his sister had stuffed in was pretty much obscuring everything else. "Aneki… hopeless." He pulled out the blanket and stretched it out on the ground, and when he sat on it, Eru's framed picture on the foot of the marker looked up clearly at him, her sweet smile forever frozen behind glass. Suddenly feeling his throat dry up, Houtarou stuck his hand in the bag for the bottle of water that he knew Tomoe would have packed.

Satisfying his thirst from the climb took up half of the bottle, but his dry throat still wouldn't go away. Twisting the cap firmly back on, he put it down on the blanket beside his bag and proceeded to take out the incense, the lunch box, and a lighter, lighting and placing the sticks in the pot and setting the box beside the picture. Clapping his hands once together, he knelt and offered a silent prayer, his lips barely moving as he mouthed the words.

Opening his eyes to meet Eru's still ones, he smiled, the gesture halfhearted on his part. "I wonder if you could still hear me now, Chitanda. But, anyway…" He took the copy of _Hyouka_ and cradled it gingerly in his hands, his eyes watching the pages flash past until he got to the desired one. "You wouldn't have stopped thinking about what we had published in _Hyouka_ for this year, would you?" He leaned forward on the blanket, and felt so much older than the perpetually sixteen-year-old Eru beyond the glass. "I'm nineteen now, you know that, Chitanda? We just graduated from Kamiyama High. You should have seen Satoshi… He was so happy that he almost cried when it was all over. On my shoulder, mind. Ibara almost choked herself to death, laughing at us. And I can't see what's so funny." _Like always, you're so emotionally unresponsive, Houtarou, _Satoshi would have remarked had he been listening on the side.

He let his mind drift back to the memory of the sea of somber black gakuran and white sailor uniforms, clumps of flowers and bits of ribbon pinned on collars and pockets beside faded school badges. And then, Fukube Satoshi's face among the crowd, searching for Houtarou among his classmates as the congregation finally broke up. Ibara Mayaka by his side, frowning up at him like always.

He didn't notice the footsteps even when they became close, his mind totally wrapped in the memory, his voice permeating the air as he talked about the graduation ceremony and its aftermath and sounding as strong as he'd hoped he truly felt. So when the intruder finally placed a hand on his shoulder, he almost jumped out of his skin, his head snapping up to look at the stranger's face.

Or, no, not a stranger—her hair had been cut in a different style than he had seen it last, but those sharp blue eyes and haughty look named the woman before him. She stood, looming over him, clad in a simple yet classy outfit as was to be expected of her choice in clothing.

"Irisu-senpai," he acknowledged her with a wary look. Irisu Fuyumi sighed, an incredulous smile spreading on her lips as she looked him over again, a young man sitting on a blanket spread in the middle of the cemetery, speaking aloud to someone who wasn't even around to listen. She had to admit that it was quite romantically idiotic—although she would never have for the life of her envisioned that she would see someone like Oreki Houtarou doing it.

"A simple '-san' would suffice. We're not schoolmates any longer." Irisu bent her knees so that she came down to his level, her sharp eyes staring him down like always. But Houtarou had long ago forgotten that he had ever been intimidated by the Empress, and so green met blue unhesitatingly, lasting until Irisu smiled and grudgingly admitted defeat, her eyes dropping to the offerings that he had placed on Eru's grave. Her expression became serious when she saw Eru's picture.

"I thought you were already studying in university over there in Tokyo," Houtarou said with a glance, setting the copy of _Hyouka_ beside the box of rice balls.

"I am. I just took a few days off for some important family affairs. I also deemed it a good reason to visit Chitanda-san… Eru, that is." Irisu surveyed the slightly smoking incense, the lunch box, the copy of _Hyouka_. Her hand stretched out and touched the framed picture in the middle of it all, a frown on her face. "You've been busy."

"Was it so unusual?" Houtarou asked crossly, drawing his knees to his chest as he studied her expression.

Irisu laughed shortly. "I didn't mean for it to sound like that." She let go of the picture and shook her head. "On to more pressing matters, have you still your penchant for solving mysteries, Oreki Houtarou?"

Houtarou shrugged, staring moodily at the picture. "Even so, if I still do have it, why bother? Chitanda's not around to pester me anymore into unraveling things that aren't clear to her. Not around anymore to tell me that she cannot stop thinking about something." His voice became bitter, subdued. Irisu wondered how many people have heard all these words from Houtarou before her, and then wondered why he would choose her to unburden himself to. She considered that someone like her, who has no reason to repeat them again, would be the ideal person.

"Oreki-kun…" She felt herself hesitating on saying the next words, wondering yet once more as to what will happen next if she did choose to let them be heard. "What if I tell you that I have concrete evidence to the possibility that Eru might still be alive?"

His smile was tinged with incredulity, but Irisu saw in his eyes what she had expected to see—a glimmer of hope. A mere glimmer, but refusing to go out anyway. "What?"

"I saw her in Tokyo just once by freak chance. But it was enough to take an image of her. Her expression looked rather different than to what I was used to, but it was expected—and when I reviewed my picture, it _was_ her, without a doubt. And the first question I asked myself is as to why she is still _alive_. And in _Tokyo_." She paused, searching his face, his face unreadable. Knowing that mere words would not move him any more from his seat, she took out her phone and flipped it open, accessing her camera album and choosing the image that had so baffled her.

Houtarou devoured the picture greedily with his eyes, his eyebrows drawing together in a perfect harmony of both shock and joy. Irisu could almost read his reluctance to accept the fact, but his longing to see her again breathing and alive stifled the negative emotions, leaving him with an expression that told Irisu that she had finally convinced him to join her cause.

"So, will you take up this case?" she finally put before him.

Houtarou silently handed back the mobile to its owner, his eyes lighting up truly for the first time in years. "This might be strange for someone like me, but I'll have you know that I haven't stopped thinking about _her_." He paused. "So, yes. I'll unravel this little problem of yours."


	2. To a Walk

**Beyond the Lines**

* * *

_We keep missing each other while trying to get closer  
__I hope one day we'd be able realize that we were indeed lost_

—**Yasashisa no Riyuu**, ChouCho (trans.)

* * *

_To a Walk_

* * *

Oreki Houtarou jerked awake from his fitful sleep when he felt someone sit beside him. Feeling rather disoriented, he snuck a peek out of the window, seeing the low mountains roll by in the lightening distance.

_ Already dawn?_

"You don't look so good." Irisu Fuyumi, who had been the one to ultimately wake him up, looked him up and down, a faint hint of worry in her features. "Had a bad dream?"

"Mm." Houtarou blinked sleepily, blankly stared at the seat before him for a while to get his bearings, and then sat up suddenly, the book that he had left unawares on his chest falling on the floor. Picking it up grudgingly and setting it on the armrest, he sat back once more, his hand automatically moving to feel his hair and finding that some of them were stubbornly sticking up in the wrong directions. "Where are we now?"

"I'm not exactly sure, but what I'm certain with is that we're still quite far from our final stop. We'll be pulling into Shinjuku at approximately eight-thirty." Irisu pulled at her sleeve to look at her watch. "…And it's just a little after five-thirty. Three more hours to while away."

Houtarou nodded curtly and stood up to go to the washroom, swaying dangerously as his motion sickness kicked in, although it wasn't so bad in a train like this. Irisu immediately stood up to assist him, but he waved her down. "I'll be fine," he said shortly, although his tone implied that he meant to reassure himself rather than Irisu.

Safely reaching the washroom despite himself, Houtarou immediately went to the sink and turned on the faucet, listening to the running water for a whole minute before remembering that he meant to wash his face. Splashing on some water, he combed his wet bangs back with his fingers, straightened up, and stared at the him in the mirror.

Irisu _was_ right, he did look pretty terrible—but her polite remark that he "didn't look so good" might as well be the understatement of the century. The shadows under his eyes were worsening, the image that Irisu had shown him lending him sleepless nights after that day. Coupled with the fact that he looked slightly nauseated because of the slight swaying of the train whenever they hit curves on the railroad, he could not really say that he was the picture of health right now. Staring down his mirror image with a begrudging glare, he closed the running faucet and hurried out, his mood not lifting in the slightest.

Irisu was patiently waiting for him when he came back, the book that he had abandoned open in her slender hands. Sensing his approach, she gave him a slight smile, saying, "I didn't know you also read Holmes, Oreki-kun."

"Well." Houtarou sat in his seat, stretching lazily and yawning, willing his nausea to go away. "Satoshi lent me his whole collection when I told him that I was going on this trip. He figured I can use a bit of light reading since the ride is long. That is, in the spells when I'm not under motion sickness." He glanced at her, a temporary sarcastic edge to his tome when he spoke again. "It brings back some memories of when we were working on that movie of yours, eh, Irisu-_senpai_?" He remembered Hongou Mayu, the frail girl who wrote the screenplay for the movie and read Holmes to get a grasp of writing mysteries. He also remembered the grand botch that he had made in deducing the end to the movie, and suddenly wanted to give his past self a proper shaking.

"Ah, you still haven't completely forgiven me for that one even after I told you that I just acted for the best? That was ages ago." Irisu flipped to the page that he had marked. "You were finishing _A Case of Identity_ earlier. Tell me, did it have some points that interested you greatly?"

"The intellectual puzzle was certainly good, but the emotional value of the story piqued my interest as well." Houtarou sat back, staring on the growing pink blaze along the horizon. "A young woman who didn't know that her stepfather was only deceiving her in the guise of a lover for her money, and Holmes deciding that such a woman wouldn't budge from her feelings for the man since she wouldn't believe the truth coming from him, a detective that she had just hired. And he knew that the criminal, whom he just freed, wasn't about to do any confessing, so he also condemns the woman to a life of eternally searching for the man she loved—someone who didn't even exist in the first place." He closed his eyes, suddenly tired. "It's… quite sad, to be honest."

Irisu watched him steadily, her blue eyes shadowed. "Fukube-kun lent you this book, you said. How did your friends and family react to the news that you'll be leaving for Tokyo?"

"Mm? I didn't tell anyone but Satoshi and my sister about the whole purpose of my trip, and luckily the two of them were pretty nice about it. To the rest of the world, Oreki Houtarou wanted to vacation all by himself, and no matter if it's the herald of the end of the world." He paused, reflecting about his decisions over the past few days before his departure.

Telling his best friend and his sister the suspicions that Chitanda Eru might be alive and residing in the capital was hard enough—and he didn't want to have to waste any more of his energy explaining himself to people other than them who would less than understand his feelings about the matter. Tomoe had been a good listener all throughout his explanation, and Satoshi was more than willing to part with a valuable book set if it can see Houtarou through his mission. Ibara and his own parents were kept in the dark, though—as well as Chitanda's parents, although Houtarou felt bad about having to keep the possibility that Eru was alive to them. But the rational side of his mind provided the fact that the possibility is nothing more than a possibility—that his journey might be nothing more than a wild goose chase, like in the case of Mary Sutherland.

"Do you have plans of going to college, Oreki-kun?" Irisu asked him out of the blue, turning another page of the book. Houtarou opened his eyes and glanced at her, wondering at why she was interested in the topic. She just continued her reading.

"I had wanted to study arts in the community college," he said simply, the memories of his sixteen-year-old self, standing in the sunset and conversing with Chitanda about the future, coming back to him like a long-forgotten song. "But then Chitanda told me that she wanted to study the sciences in some university away from Kamiyama. She wanted to learn how to make the local farmers' lives easier. She also told me that she wanted to study about two methods of going about it, and that she would only choose one to concentrate upon because she was ill-suited to the other." Fingers threaded together, and he fumbled with them for a while, blushing slightly at the thought. "I considered telling her that I would be more than happy to take up the remaining method that she wouldn't study so that we can take our knowledge together when we graduate and fulfill her dreams together. But I hesitated. And the right moment passed."

"Why?" Irisu was all ears now, her brow furrowed. The book lay closed in her lap.

The next words that tumbled out of his mouth felt almost rehearsed. "Because if I told her in that same instant, it would be like lying and living a lie." He pulled his hands apart and closed his right one, feeling his newly-trimmed nails dig into his palm. "I wasn't ready to relinquish my motto back then. I was still just a kid afraid of taking responsibility for words that I wasn't sure I can fulfill. In that regard, Chitanda was even more mature than me."

"Your motto…" Irisu raised her brow.

"_I don't do anything I don't have to. What I have to do, I do quickly._" The words tasted foreign on his tongue, now, even as he recited them. "I thought back then that if I took up that task of helping fulfill Chitanda's dreams, it would ruin my priorities." He wondered how the fifteen-year-old Oreki Houtarou would react if he saw him now, the nineteen-year-old Oreki Houtarou, riding on a train to search for Chitanda Eru in the bustling city of Tokyo. Likely, fifteen-year-old Houtarou would think it would be a waste of time to even react, but at the back of his mind he would always think, _How did it come to this? It wasn't a future I would have wanted._

_I know,_ he thought to himself. _I would have thought of that too. Just not in the same context. After all, the middle-school me wouldn't even have met Chitanda Eru yet._

Beside him, Irisu sighed lightly and sat back herself, the both of them now thinking heavily about the conversation just now and the things that they might face once they set foot in their destination and start the search.

* * *

He yawned, and yawned. And _yawned_. It was too early for a visit to Chitanda's grave... but Mayaka had insisted. And there was no arguing with Mayaka, even more so now that they had been going out for almost a whole year and a half.

Fukube Satoshi tried to flatten down his hair but failed, and decided on remedying the problem with resignedly pulling a cap down to his ears instead. Taking the drawstring bag on the edge of sink, he proceeded to go out of the house, his easy smile flaring as he took in the sunlight breaking over the mountains.

"What a nice morning!" he announced to no one in particular, swinging a leg over his bicycle and starting on his way. The flat fields that greeted his eyes on both sides queerly cheered him up as he rushed along, the wind flowing against his face.

"You're late, Fuku-chan." There was no smile in Ibara Mayaka's voice as Satoshi braked in front of her, the back wheel of his bicycle skidding slightly and showering her skirt with bits of grass. "And you dirtied my _clothes_," she complained in further dismay, shaking her skirt out.

"Whoa, sorry!" Satoshi went to help Mayaka beat off the stuff from her dress, but she slapped his hand away crossly, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. "But it's just that the time you've requested was so, shall we say, _early_? I'm quite out of it... and the sunrise is just beginning as we speak." At the mention of the sunrise, they automatically looked at the horizon, Mayaka's expression softening at the sight of the faint glow spreading across the sky.

"So, Mayaka, shall we go?" Satoshi asked her, and they trooped away from Mayaka's house, Satoshi wheeling his bicycle by his side and watching his bag bounce slightly whenever the front wheel hit a stray stone.

"This is all so surreal," Mayaka began quite suddenly, making Satoshi turn his attention to her.

"What is?" he asked, even as he knew her answer.

"Come _on_, Fuku-chan. You know what I was talking about." Mayaka kicked a loose rock on her path, making it fly away some distance before them. "Chii-chan gone… and then Oreki, of all people, going to _Tokyo_… and with _Irisu-san_, of _all_ people!" She looked rather mournful. "Times really are changing, right, Fuku-chan? It makes me feel strange."

He nodded, sharing her uneasiness. Houtarou had divulged the true reason why he was leaving for the metropolis, but even so, Mayaka's words rang true. After all… "Yeah, seeing Houtarou leave was certainly disquieting. He was a childhood friend after all. I'm sorry when Chitanda-san went missing, of course, but Houtarou's case was different. I thought he'd be the only constant in our group." _But then Chitanda-san came and went, and changed Houtarou by the degree,_ he thought with a smile. He still didn't know whether to be happy or sad for his best friend.

"Don't call him a 'childhood friend'." Mayaka looked annoyed, and Satoshi pushed her a little more to cheer her up.

"But you've been practically classmates since grade school, right—"

"DON'T. CALL. HIM. A. CHILDHOOD. FRIEND." With each word, Mayaka hit him once with her bag, and Satoshi smiled when she huffed with an exhausted blush. She was again back to her old self.

"Alright, alright. Come, now. She's waiting." And with that final word, the pair walked on with a thoughtful silence between them, Mayaka idly swinging her bag back and forth as she walked.

* * *

And then there was the darkness. It enveloped him, blinded him, drove him almost to the brink of insanity.

The sounds of the falling rain befell his ears first, and then the sound of his own panicked breathing. It came out of him in short, sharp bursts, but when he automatically put his hand up on a wall that he just knew to be there to save himself from stumbling, he momentarily forgot how to breathe and simply cried out, falling sideways to the wall and hitting his shoulder as he caught his wrist, cradling it in his good hand. The pain of the forgotten fracture stilled him for a good while, as he felt the water seep in his socks and the raindrops drench the rest of his clothes.

"Must… come _back_… Chitan—Chitan-_da_—" He crept forward, eyes searching in the unfathomable darkness, his teeth chattering at the cold. He felt like crying. The memory of her blank violet eyes, staring vacantly at him as he stumbled out of the temporarily unguarded room, haunted him. He had to find help.

Now.

Now.

Now—

"_Now_…" He staggered his way through the dark, the wall supporting him, the floor unsteady under his feet. And then he fell into a chasm so deep that he couldn't even fathom—

Then warmth. Or cold. He couldn't tell exactly—but it was getting warmer— A gentle warmth, to be sure—

"Please look, Oreki-san."

_Her voice—? No, that can't be, can—_

And, despite his fear, he opened his eyes, found that he was standing up with a bicycle by his side, and looked over his shoulder at the slender, pale figure of sixteen-year-old Chitanda Eru behind him, her arms spread out to catch the resilient spring breeze. He suddenly realized that he was sixteen years old again, too. He felt lightheaded—but hadn't he been anything but a sixteen-year-old freshman at Kamiyama High?

_What was I thinking about again?_

"This is my place." He followed her eyes, the smell of the late cherry blossoms permeating strongly in the air. "All we have is water and soil. The people aren't getting any younger either. I don't think this place is the most beautiful ever, nor do I see that many possibilities here." Her voice, as if from a melody, filled his head. "But…" She looked down, and then he could catch a glimpse of the sweet, sweet girl that Chitanda Eru was— "I wanted to show it to you."

He turned his head forward, and considered his words as he let them out one by one. "Speaking of which…" _This is the moment, tell her—what you truly feel—_

_ But—_

And the moment passed, as if in slow motion, and Chitanda Eru looked up at him, eyes blank and vacant—

"_No_—" he choked, and he was again hungry, and hurting all over, and blind—

He stumbled out of the darkening, unguarded room, and ran out, ran out as his last bid to freedom, running like he had never done before in his life, not for himself, but for Chitanda's sake, for she mattered more than everything in his life—

And then… there was the darkness—

"Oreki-kun. _Oreki-kun_."

"Ah!" He shot out from the comfort of his seat, eyes wide and pupils dilated, his breathing as shaky as his arms when he put weight on them to steady him up. Beside him, Irisu stared at him with worried eyes.

"You've had another bad dream," she said, grabbing his arm.

"No," he corrected her, and his lip was trembling. "It had always been the same nightmare ever since."

And when he looked out the window, he found that he wasn't in Kamiyama anymore.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

* * *

The book Houtarou was reading in the train is _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I confess that I had been a self-proclaimed Sherlockian when I was in high school, and have read all of the books and short stories. (Tehe.)

You can check out my profile for some songs to download and listen to while reading my fics. I listened to them while writing, so maybe you'll capture the emotions that I had wanted to convey whilst listening to them as well. They're all in Japanese, mind. I'm a J-pop/rock fan.

Reviews are highly appreciated. I read them over and over until they get threadbare, don't worry. Your time won't be wasted by submitting a thought.

And I just happened to be fired up so I wrote this chapter so quickly. I wonder if I'd be this quick again.

Love you guys. Wait for my next update.


	3. Speeding the Pace

**Beyond the Lines**

* * *

_ Even if I'm alone, I'll go, even if it's difficult  
__I'll definitely bring the dream I had with you  
__I'm glad it was with you, and nobody else  
__But when I woke up in the morning, you weren't there_

—**Ichiban no Takaramono (Yui ver.)**, LiSA (trans.)

* * *

_Speeding the Pace_

* * *

After two days spent in the capital, Oreki Houtarou constantly found himself daydreaming of the slow, leisurely spreading plains in his hometown.

In the city, he came to find a missing girl, and found that he had only the confusing music of the streets and the shops to meet. Reading the books that Satoshi had thoughtfully lent him in the special little corner that he had made in his small apartment was the only solace that he found now, his breath almost always catching whenever he confronted the mass of energy-consuming pedestrians outside. The search was not even progressing—he only had Irisu's little image to go by, and the location where she captured it, but Houtarou's energy-efficient habits soon kicked in as he slowly got his bearings in this huge electrical town, and since by then has made a few inferences from the image and from when he visited the location to see it for himself.

"How have you been faring in here, Oreki-kun?" Irisu Fuyumi, entering his apartment on the third day with a box in her hands, said with a slightly interested look as she gazed around the room. "Hm, I've never seen another boy of your age look this organized. This room is so clean, it's almost bare."

"Irisu-san, I'm truly wondering if you had just cracked a joke there," Houtarou replied sarcastically, indicating the very meager number that he had brought of his personal belongings. He was well-stocked in clothes and books, and even brought the digital alarm clock from his room, but other than that, he was lacking in material possession, making the room look like a bland picture. He certainly didn't feel as if he had already been staying here for the past two days. He just felt like a visitor that was about to bow himself out any time now.

"I brought some cupcakes, if it's not too much," Irisu remarked, placing the box on the low table and removing the lid. "Are you eating well?"

"You almost sound exactly like my sister." Houtarou stared blankly at Irisu until she took a piece of cake from the box and made herself at home, kneeling on the thick tatami mat. Watching her look pointedly at him, he took one, grudgingly. He had always felt awkward whenever they sit like this face-to-face ever since two years ago… one thing that did not change through time, even though he spoke to her as equals nowadays. "Well, certainly I haven't intended to waste my days here. _What I have to do, I do quickly._ Remember?" He took out a well-thumbed notebook out of his bag and opened it from the back, the last page covered in notes. "I had printed out an enlarged copy of the picture that you have taken, and used some details in here to at least make a sense of her situation." He turned the page and revealed the picture, which was enlarged to at least the size of a small paperback book.

"In this picture, we can see Chitanda standing among the rushing crowd, dressed in a loose, pastel-colored blouse. She has a shoulder bag, as can be seen from the side that we can see of her—that is, her left side. First thing is, you must have seen her while you were waiting at the stoplight. Her back is to the road."

"So what have you deduced from that simple picture?" Irisu said interestedly, leaning forward as she did so to look at the picture more closely. Seeing Houtarou warily edging away from her, she laughed. "I don't bite, Oreki-kun."

"Yeah, I'm sure you don't," Houtarou muttered with a snarky undertone, but Irisu pretended not to notice. "_Anyway_," he said more loudly, "There were a few key points inside. Like for example, the bag that stood beside her."

"Hm?" Irisu frowned, glancing at the shoulder bag that hung on Eru's exposed left side. "What—"

"This one," Houtarou said patiently, uncapping his pen and circling the gray shopping bag on the right side almost completely obscured by Eru's long skirt.

Irisu's brow raised very slightly. "What of it?"

"I explored that area of Akihabara thoroughly and found the only shop where they use that color of bag. It's a book store specializing in manga." Houtarou frowned at the picture. "I don't know what to make of that, though. Did Chitanda develop a taste for manga or was she going to make a present of it to someone?

"She's also wearing a very loose blouse—look at the seam on her shoulder, it's too low. The past Chitanda favors loose clothes, but the blouse was looser than was necessary for her, certainly. Women do not generally get themselves form-fitting clothes like blouses in sizes other than the exact one, which introduces the possibility that someone else, someone of the same gender—the cut is distinctly that of a woman's blouse— lent it to her. And the blouse is not too old—the color is still very bright—which also erases the possibility that she had gotten it from a past housemate. She must be staying with the owner now… or at least in regular contact with her.

"Perhaps it's someone older… and yet, more childish and clumsy. The choice of color is certainly indicative, as well as the off-color stain on the sleeve."

Irisu looked at him steadily. "This is all very interesting, but it's assuming that the Chitanda Eru in this picture is exactly the same as when before she went missing two years ago, right?"

Houtarou nodded seriously. "They're only some of the assumptions I made with the present data I have. For now, I'm just satisfied to establish a point to myself."

"Which is?"

Houtarou leaned forward to the table, casting his shadow over the picture-Eru's face. "That she is safe. That's what matters the most. She's _safe_."

* * *

Ironically, she had learned to endure the nightmares, but not the good dreams.

Sitting up with a tearstained face, the girl who now called herself Yamada Midori groped in the dark until she found the lamp, flicking it open with a hand as she covered half of her face with her free one. The lamp cast a strong light against the darkness, coating the room with a bright yellow color. Letting go of the lamp, she put her remaining hand over the uncovered half of her face and let the tears fall, her shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping the sound of her sobs to a bare minimum.

She had longed to remember the face of the boy in her dreams, turning over and over in her head the only part of him that she had been able to retain in mind while awake: his eyes, dark green and almost always calm in every dream she revisited. Watching, always watching her, never absent. That was good in itself. The thing is, she wasn't sure someone is watching over her right now. The boy with the dark green eyes always disappeared whenever she experienced an awakening.

"Where were you?" she murmured, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to her chest. The sobs came more quietly now. She didn't deem it rational to cry over the "phantom boy without a face", as Anjou-san, ever the romanticist, had dubbed the main character of her sleeping hours, but somehow it seemed so very important to her past self. What else would be the reason why her broken memories would conjure up his presence when she couldn't even remember him properly?

The dream tonight was the usual one where they were sitting in a room with two desks between them, flashes seeping in behind her closed eyelids as she dredged up the dregs of her dream. Again, his eyes were the only prominent part of his face, the bright sunlight obscuring the rest from view—

"_Chitanda_," he had called her, and she had smiled, and reached over the width of the table, extending her hand to try and touch his cheek, his face, his name halting on the tip of her tongue—

She shuddered in her nightgown. _It's no good._ Suddenly feeling the cold seep in her skin, she slid her legs over the edge of the bed and felt for her slippers, slipping them on and walking over out of the door and into the kitchen to make herself some warm milk.

"Midori-chan?" Yawning, Anjou-san traipsed out of her own room, stretching her arms above her head sleepily. "Had another bad dream?" she added softly when the girl didn't answer.

"On the contrary, I think it had been a very good dream tonight," she finally replied, thanking the university student with a smile and a nod as the older girl went past and gestured if she wanted some milk. Putting the pan over the stove, they sat at the dining table as they waited for the milk to warm, Anjou occasionally peeking over at the stove to watch for the beginnings of steam that would alert her.

"So, Midori-chan." Anjou soon had a couple of mugs poured out and placed one on the table for the girl, her eyes gentle and quiet. "You suddenly look as if you wanted to discuss something."

Midori blushed, her lips curling in a shy smile. Anjou thought it quite adorable, as if Midori was her little sister. "Well, since you were also already up and all, I decided to talk about something."

"Go on." Anjou sipped at her milk, finding it's taste rather flat.

"Well…" The girl fidgeted, the hand around the mug tightening before she opened her mouth again. "Am I being a nuisance already?"

Anjou looked up, her brown eyes widening. "Huh? Of course not! What would make you think of such a thing?"

"Well, you don't know me, and _I_ don't know me, myself…" Midori stared into the milk in her mug, nothing but white blankness staring back. "And I'm already feeling rather guilty at freeloading here in your apartment without doing anything… Maybe I should take a part-time job…"

"Midori-chan, we've talked about this already," Anjou said with a troubled frown. "You told me that you've survived a kidnapping and that they were the ones who abandoned you here when you were already dying. What if they recognize you in the city and try to finish the job that they hadn't accomplished? It's dangerous!"

"Yes! I know it's dangerous, Anjou-san… But…" Midori was horrified to feel a tear escaping her eye and sliding down her cheek, hastily batting it away with a finger. "What if _he_ was looking for me as well?"

"The boy in your dreams?" Anjou looked troubled. "Dreams are not very reliable in times like these, Midori-chan. I understand that he's your only key to finally regain your past, if he _is_ a real person, but…"

"What else can I do but _try_?" Midori cried, her hand letting go from the warm mug and slapping down on the table in earnest. The resulting noise made them aware of what was just happening, and Midori resumed her hands on her lap with a murmur of apology. Anjou sighed at this show of emotion from the usually-gentle Midori, and decided.

"I understand," she finally said, making Midori look up with a hopeful look in her pale face. "My classmate is working at a maid café in Akiba. I've heard recently that they were currently wanting for additional workers, so I might as well take you up to them. I'm sure you'll do well—you're also pretty, so they might hire you as a regular if you help their sales." She frowned. "But, Midori-chan, are you really, really sure about this?"

"Of course, Anjou-san," the girl who was once Chitanda answered, her straight dark hair cut short just slightly over her shoulders spilling as she stood took a bow. "Thank you for everything."

* * *

"This is no good," Houtarou grumbled in frustration, rumpling up his hair as he studied the map before him. The search was getting into a standstill, and he had no idea whatsoever of how to locate Eru with his lack of information. He had taken to lazing around the general area where Irisu first saw Eru by chance, but after wasting away two more days in roaming all over the place, he decided that he had taken a task larger than he was. He was no closer to finding Eru than when he was back at Gifu—and he wondered if he could gain something only by pure luck. The thought depressed him.

Irisu had taken to visiting him every other day, to check up on him and his progress. Houtarou still felt wary of her, though, and when it came up in conversation that it was actually his sister who had requested Irisu to make sure he took care of himself, he almost blew his top. Well, "almost" was the keyword. He didn't actually bother summoning the energy to actually show the emotion.

"What was she thinking? I'm not some _kid_ to watch over for," Houtarou had snapped when Irisu let the detail slip. "Anyway, how did you know my sister anyway?" Irisu merely took a sip of her tea, and waited for Houtarou to get tired of being angry before speaking.

"I've been acquainted with Oreki Tomoe-san for somewhat longer than you would have expected," Irisu had then replied coolly. "She was the one who had suggested that I take up the matter of Hongou's script to you… although it might have looked as if she were disconnected with the matter because I had decided to use my connection with Chitanda Eru to get to you. I must confess that I only went with her advice because I respected and admired your sister's insight and intellect, and not because of any personal prejudice on my part."

Oreki remembered taking a cookie from the tin that she proffered after that, the crease between his brows lifting as he had continued to eat. He supposed that he had been only tired from this seemingly-fruitless search. He certainly hadn't eaten and slept as well as he was used to these past few days.

So the next afternoon, when he stepped out and saw that the gray sky overhead boded rain, he immediately pulled his hood over his head and stalked out, his spirits sinking even lower. He concluded that being less than well-fed and well-rested was a huge blow to his energy-conserving lifestyle, and in return, to his mood.

Akihabara had never seemed so lively as when it was this gloomy. Houtarou strolled along the curbs, his head down, his eyes lifted to see before him, his path illuminated by the neon displays of various establishments that catered either to Japan's moe culture or to techies from various parts of the city. After reaching his destination, his sneakers were already sodden inside with how fast and heavy the rain began just a few minutes ago, the sudden downpour taking even him unawares.

Even with the rushing of the crowd all around him and the music blaring out in every which way, Oreki Houtarou had never felt more alone.

Letting his hood fall from his hair, he looked up and let the rain baptize him, sodden bangs sliding away from green eyes as he studied the dark sky, the thought _Why hadn't I thought of bringing an umbrella instead? _ringing in his mind as he stood stock-still, hoping, hoping, that when he looked back at the gray mass of humankind struggling all around him, he might see the splash of color that he was looking for.

"You look like you need an umbrella, little boy."

Instantly, a bright red umbrella was placed above his head, and Houtarou found himself looking down on a slight young woman, a smile on her face. She looked as if she were around Irisu's age, which would single her out as a college student, although the mischievous look in her eyes made her seem less mature than Irisu would be. But of course every one suddenly seemed less mature when around Irisu, he decided.

"Little boy?" Houtarou let the question hang in the air, staring incredulously at the woman. Catching his eyes, she laughed, amused at his reaction. Or rather, at the bland quality of it.

"Well, you looked like a child lost and looking for his mother, you know. Which is quite strange, for a tall fella like you." She looked him up and down. "What are you doing here? Letting the rain 'wash away your sins', or some such romantic nonsense? Or did you just simply forget your umbrella?"

Houtarou stared evenly at the stranger before deciding upon an answer. "Both," he deadpanned.

"You're funny. I like you." The woman chortled at his unintentional quip before smiling—no, _smirking_ at him. Houtarou did not like that look at all, although he did faintly acknowledge that this was the first time anyone had explicitly stated that she "liked" him as he was. "Oh, I know. Why don't we stop by at a coffee place? I'll treat you—you need a warm drink, I'd bet. Standing in this rain." When Houtarou didn't bother gracing her question with a reply, she laughed and pulled his arm, dragging him along in the crowd.

_Being treated by a strange woman to coffee in the middle of a strange city, _he thought dully, and then felt almost relieved when he found that his usual mental snark had returned after almost a week's lack of anyone to use it to. _Seems legit._

* * *

"Your name, by the way?" she asked, as their drinks arrived.

"Oreki Houtarou," he conceded, taking his cup and sipping without putting in any cream or sugar. His senses faintly registered that it tasted as bitter as his circumstances.

The café where she took him to was situated smack between two bookstores, the girls cosplaying as maids walking around with circular trays clutched to their chests. Houtarou looked around the place, instantly feeling his aura darken for a few more shades at the bright décor of the shop.

"Hmm, Oreki Houtarou?" The girl thought for a moment. "How do you write that?"

After writing his name on a spare paper napkin and presenting it to her, she whistled. "How much more ordinary can you get," she joked, tracing his neat characters with a finger.

He stared at her, impassively, not betraying any emotion._ I'm gonna thank you heartily if you'll just shut up about my "ordinary name"._

"Really," Houtarou chose to reply, the single word coated with a dry sarcasm. "And I'm not gonna tell you my e-mail address, if that's the next thing you're gonna ask me."

"My pleasure," returned his adversary, accordingly. "And I don't go around asking mail addresses from little boys like you, so rest assured."

_And milady scores a point._ A downward quirk of Houtarou's lip.

"And your name—?" Houtarou asked back, so that he wouldn't seem ruder than was minimal. This strange, tomboyish woman had treated him with coffee and with something more indefinable than it, after all.

"Kouchi, little boy," she replied, downing her espresso. "Kouchi Ayako-sama at your service~"

_ Well, at the very least I wouldn't have to complain about it being a mouthful. _

Houtarou turned back to his coffee, and found it already lukewarm. He drank it anyway.

* * *

"Mayaka." Fukube Satoshi immediately put an umbrella over her head as he rushed to her side, his usual grin fixing itself in place when Mayaka turned to look at him with a slightly pink face. "Been here long?"

"Not really." Mayaka watched the ripples on the puddle that rested between them, her eyes shifting to look again at Satoshi when he laughed. "What?" she asked defensively.

"Nothing." He held out his arm for Mayaka to take. "Well, shall we?"

"Mm." Mayaka looked confused as they strolled along the streets, the fine rain shower making everything look as if misted over. "But why a visit over to the Orekis' so suddenly?"

"Well, Houtarou's sister asked me over, and when I asked if I could bring you over, she said sure." Satoshi grinned when Mayaka turned beet red. "You've never been personally introduced to Tomoe-san, right? It's as good a chance as any."

"I guess. Oreki's always mentioned how she was always on the other side of the globe," Mayaka mused. "Anyway, I'm also interested to see the woman who can make Oreki do something as bothersome as join a club like the Classics."

Satoshi laughed. "Trust me, Houtarou's quite scared of her prowess at aikido and taiho jutsu. To me, though, she's quite the opposite of her brother—outgoing and a traveler. Nice, but rather airheaded."

Mayaka frowned. "Why, that might as well be Chii-chan you're describing. Minus the martial-arts part."

Satoshi grinned mischievously. "I know, right? But here we are." The house occupying the lot in front of the shrine was nondescript, the corner where it was situated quiet, with no music to serenade it except for the occasional ringing of a passing bicycle or the twittering of birds. But in this rain, it stood silent, and rather gloomy.

"Let's go," Satoshi told Mayaka, noticing the weird look that she gave the house. "Still can't believe that Houtarou lives here?"

"I would have believed it more if someone told me that he lives in the school itself so as to do away with walking to and from it every day," she retorted. "He's just that kind of person."

"Well, I wonder about that." Satoshi boldly led the way to the door and pushed the buzzer. Mayaka could hear someone approach the other side, and with a click, the door swung open, giving the pair a glimpse of Oreki Tomoe's green eyes, shaped so much like her brother's.

"There you are, Satoshi-kun." A smile spread on her lips. "Come on in. Oh, and might you be Ibara Mayaka-san?"

"Y-Yes." Mayaka felt rather awkward at this display of recognition from a person that she had just met. "Pleased to meet you."

"Well, might as well get you out of the rain. In, in!" Tomoe's singsong voice accompanied her guests as the pair timidly walked in the entrance, removed their shoes, and wore the slippers that Tomoe had put out.

"Anyway, why did you call us over, Tomoe-san?" Satoshi asked warily when Tomoe had already served them tea. The rain outside was thinning, he gathered from the sound of it.

"Well…" Tomoe set down her cup, and gestured at Mayaka, whose faintly curious look was apparent. "Did she already know why Houtarou left for Tokyo, Satoshi-kun?"

"Not really, but I sensed that this meeting might pertain to Houtarou's doings, so I took the liberty of bringing her along as well. It might be timely now to tell her."

Mayaka looked more confused at every word. "What's going on Fuku-ch—?"

"Sorry, Mayaka!" Satoshi exclaimed, his hands clapping together in a familiar apologetic gesture. "I lied to you about something… but Houtarou asked me to and…"

"Hold on…" Mayaka's eyes narrowed. "Lied about _what_, exactly, Fuku-chan?"

Satoshi quailed under his girlfriend's glare. "I told you that Houtarou went to Tokyo to stay over at an aunt's, right?" he began, Mayaka nodding at him suspiciously. "The fact is… He's been there for some other reason."

Mayaka raised an eyebrow. "So you hid his real purpose… What should I be getting angry for, then? Oreki's business is none of mine. I could care less about why he was over in Tokyo."

"Well… That's where you're wrong." Satoshi glanced over at Houtarou's sister, and seeing her nod lightly, he plowed on. "This matter is something that you should concern yourself as well."

"Eh?" Mayaka frowned deeper. "Fine. What's the matter with Houtarou? Spill it. Unless he's actually there because of a horrible terminal disease, well… Oh, I'm sorry, Oreki-san," she added, remembering that a third person was there with them. "I didn't mean for it to sound like that…"

"He's not _dying_, Mayaka—that was quite mean." Satoshi patted Mayaka on the back as she glanced, mortified, at Tomoe's direction. Tomoe didn't seem to mind the notion that someone thought her brother was in the brink of death, though. Or maybe she just wasn't focused on their conversation. Satoshi did think that she looked quite vacant. "Anyway, back on track… Restrain yourself, okay, Mayaka?"

"I can't promise anything," was the blunt answer.

"Okay." Satoshi cleared his throat dramatically. "The thing is… You know that Chitanda-san's death wasn't actually confirmed?"

Mayaka's eyes were wide as she nodded, as if getting at what Satoshi was about to say.

"You got it, right?" Satoshi sighed. "Well, Irisu-san has gleaned a lead as to the fact that Chitanda-san may still be alive… and in Tokyo. It's nothing very definitive, though. It may be a wisp of smoke for all we know. But Houtarou's determined to bring her back to her parents." He noticed Mayaka looking down at the floor. "Mayaka, you okay?"

"I'm okay." Mayaka's voice was shaky yet firm. She raised her head, and Satoshi could see her smile, albeit watery. "So, Oreki-san," she said suddenly, turning to look at the woman seated opposite her. "What's this all about, then?"

Tomoe smiled brightly. "This might be abrupt, but I have a request regarding my brother's quest. I hope to hear a favorable response from you both."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

* * *

I never did get the hang of writing mysteries even though I love them so much.

Aikido and taiho jutsu... Well, Houtarou did mention his sister's affinity in them in the light novels. He's quite the charming narrator.


	4. A Mile's Run

**Beyond the Lines**

* * *

_I want to solve your mystery  
__Look for the back of the boy, burdened with secrets!  
__You are a fantasy and I'm drawn to you  
__This growing curiosity, there's no twist in the story  
__I can't stop thinking about it…  
__But why?_

—**Kimi ni Matsuwaru Mystery**,  
duet by Satou Satomi and Kayano Ai (trans.)

* * *

_A Mile's Run_

* * *

"Oh, Jirou." Twenty-year-old Kugayama Muneyoshi greeted his friend on the phone, his eyes scanning the textbook open before him on his desk. "What's up?"

Tanabe Jirou sounded exhausted on the other line, but at least obtained a cheerful note in his voice when he heard Muneyoshi after the first tired "hello". Wiping his forehead, he smiled and replied, "I'm currently taking a break from finishing up some reports that I have to turn in by tomorrow." He paused slightly, grabbing the materials he needed to make himself a glass of iced coffee. The semidarkness of the Tanabes' kitchen surrounded him like a blanket as he held his mobile against his ear. "What about you?" The spoon clinked pleasantly against glass as he stirred some creamer into his drink.

"Reports? Methinks you're always a tad busier than I am, even as we get older," Muneyoshi quipped, and then took on a more serious tone when he had appropriated a short laugh from the other side. "Anyway, I'm just touching up for a long exam tomorrow for stat class. You know how bad I was and still am at numbers…"

"That I can't refute," Jirou replied, relaxing against the kitchen counter as he put back the glass on the counter. "Anyway, have you been in touch lately with Haru-chan? She's also studying in Tokyo, yes?"

He could detect a faint wisp of defensiveness in Muneyoshi's tone, making him frown. "…Yup. Just met with her a couple of weeks ago. She's studying creative writing in some university… I forget the name, haha." He paused. "Why were you asking? Still wondering if we were going to do a collab again? Jirou…"

"I know, I know." Jirou would have raised his arms up in a defeated gesture had Muneyoshi been present with him in the room, but he was still alone in the kitchen. "You know, sometimes I feel queer whenever I pass Kami High. It's as if I am still a student and can enter the school again to see you guys… and at the same time feeling that it's not probable at the moment."

"Our high school teachers were right—you _are_ an old soul trapped in a young body." Muneyoshi smiled lightly and reached for a pen on the side, twirling it absently in his hand for want of something to occupy him. The words and numbers on the page before him suddenly made no sense, he realized. It was always the case when the subject dropped into the past, a topic that Jirou seemed rather fond of bringing up lately in the past few telephone conversations between them. Muneyoshi had to admit that they were dissimilar in that regard—if Jirou lived in the past, he lived for the present and future.

He rose and walked out casually from the room, shutting the door securely behind him and wandering over to the kitchen. "For a change of topic, I must confess, I'm now thriving on instant ramen like a stereotypical college student. And I still haven't had dinner. I'm moving to my makeshift kitch." He smiled as Jirou made a disapproving noise at the other side, and plowed on. "Anyway, I might be able to go back when the Christmas holidays start. Mom asked me to anyway. You know that I can't say no to her."

"I… see." He remembered Muneyoshi's mother—a stern, custom-driven woman that wanted nothing less than perfection from her son. Since the Kugayamas were a sort of politically-inclined family, he could picture the kind of strain that her expectations were putting on Muneyoshi. "Yumiko-san, eh… Although, are you perhaps implying that you have no intention of returning here before she told you to?"

Muneyoshi laughed, embarrassed at being caught. "Well… I wasn't really about to tell you this early, Jirou… But actually…" He sighed. "Hell, you're my best friend. She wouldn't mind now, would she?"

"Who's _she_?" Jirou sounded suspicious. A new girlfriend?

"I—Haru-kun. Uh, we're sorta… kinda… going _out_." Muneyoshi blushed as he finally told the truth, and he could almost taste the awkwardness in the air when Jirou fell ominously silent. "Er… Jirou? Hello?"

Jirou finally found his voice. "_Haru-chan?_ Mune, what…?" He was quite shocked, to say the least. He had never found cause to believe that Mune liked Haru as anything more than a friend back in their high school days… But of course that had been a long time ago. Suddenly, the bitterness of the coffee remained in his mouth even after all the sugar that he had put in it. "What _has_ gotten into you two? After all these years?" he said, attempting a cheerful, joking tone. He hoped that Muneyoshi wouldn't notice the undercurrent of feelings rolling under his surface.

"Haha, you meanie." It seemed that the relief of having confessed at last to his best friend had dulled Muneyoshi's insight into Jirou's tone, though, making the latter sigh inwardly with relief. "Anyway… Haru and I had been going out for some months now. I thought to keep silent about the matter as to not attract the attention of others, but… well, let's just say that I felt guilty about having to hide it from you, of all people."

"Oh." Jirou stared into the only light burning in the dark, his pupils partially dilated. "Well, congratulations are in order. You two work better together."

"Thanks." Muneyoshi smiled up at the cupboard, eyes searching the shadows. "Well, I think I should go, huh? My review materials are waiting for me."

"Alright. Good night, Mune." The other line clicking in response, he picked up his glass and found it already empty. It did not look as empty as he felt inside, though.

"Ironic," he muttered, a bitter look in his usually passive eyes. "This whole goddamned mess is ironic."

* * *

"_Good afternoon. You're in the Classics Club too, right, Oreki-san?" _Echoes of the past.

_ "Who are you?"_

_ She seemed confused. "You forgot? I'm Chitanda." A hand coming up to place itself at her heart. "Chitanda Eru." _

_ He stared at her, deadpan. "Sorry, doesn't ring a bell." _

_ "You're Oreki Houtarou-san from 1-B, right?" _

_ "Yeah." _

_ "I'm in 1-A." _

_ As if he would get it already. "That doesn't really…" Then he paused, and she watched him piece the puzzle together. _

_ "Did we take Music together?" _

_ She looked pleased, and _damn_, she looked like an angel from that angle, the sun on her hair looking like a halo. "Yep!"_

* * *

"Alright, Midori?"

"Y-Yes, I'm fine."

Yamada Midori sighed deeply as the café finally let out the last customer of the day. Interacting with customers had been rather taxing at first, although her senpai had advised her to act naturally since she was just that type. When she got the hang of it, though, the job seemed to flow through her fingers as easily as water. She was beginning to gather a following among the customers, more quickly than anyone else that started before her, she was told.

She watched Kouchi Ayako silently as she helped prop the chairs on the tables, still infinitely grateful for her offer of the job. She learned that she and Anjou-san were friends and rivals of a sort ever since high school, and now sharing one of their classes together in the university as classmates.

Ayako felt her staring, and turned her head to smile tentatively at Midori, as though encouraging her to ask her anything. Midori returned a weak smile, and turned back to her task. However, when everything was finished and the girls were finished changing back into their civilian clothes, Ayako slung an arm around Midori's shoulders and grinned at her when she started.

"I'll walk you home," she offered, amid Midori's refusals. "C'mon. I also needed to return Haru's review materials. Personally," she said firmly when Midori was about to ask if she'd want to deliver them for her instead.

"I—alright," Midori finally acquiesced, tired of arguing with the more outgoing Ayako.

"Anyway, you were looking pretty intensely at me earlier. Got a crush on me or something?" Ayako quipped, making Midori blush easily.

"Um, well…" Midori fidgeted. "Actually, I was curious about something…"

"Oh. What about?"

"Your rivalry with Anjou-san… How did it begin…?"

Ayako laughed. "Haha, aren't you being a little too nosy about our business, Midori-chan? Hey, just kidding!"—seeing Midori display dismay in her eyes—"I'm totally fine with it when it's you asking, for some reason." She skipped forward, smiling. "Well, if I had to find a concrete point as to where it all began, well, I'd say it was when we found out that we both love reading manga. And then we both decided to write our own, and then I found that she is better at it than I am… even though Haruna's technically not that avid a fan. Well, things escalated pretty quickly after that. Rest is history."

Midori watched her quietly. "I see."

"That's all you have to say after spilling my precious guts to you?" Ayako quipped, her grin spreading on her lips once more.

They stayed in an amiable silence for the rest of the walk back to the apartment that Anjou and Midori occupied, Ayako looking all around as they walked.

"Oh, by the way, Midori-chan," Ayako said as they were about to part at the door, with the review materials given to Midori's care anyway. "I met a weird, super-dull guy the other day, and he's such a mysterious one at that. You might get interested in him… He's a walking puzzle, I swear. He looks as if he's lost and yet purpose-driven at the same time… D'you get what I mean?"

Midori smiled and nodded, remembering her own experiences.

"Anyway, I might invite him to come around so that we can introduce you to him. Okay? Figure him out if you can." Ayako turned away. "Bye then. See you tomorrow."

"Good night, Kouchi-san."

* * *

"_Were you planning to confess to me or something?" He sat back. _

_ She gasped and looked up, her violet eyes serious. _

_ "You might consider it a confession." _Echoes of the past.

_ He looked unsettled at this, and looked away. "I'll have another coffee, please," he called out to the barista, instead of answering at once. _

_ "Um, actually, I…"—gripping the material of her skirt tightly—"I have a request!"—and suddenly looking quite determined. _

_ "Eh?"_

_ He was considerably flustered, and she thought it looked adorable on a boy of his age as he looked around with a pink face. "Eh?" he said again, finally looking at her once more, as if realizing the meaning of what she had just said. "A _request_?" _

_ "Yes."_

* * *

Satoshi washed the dishes methodically, humming dully to himself as he grabbed the last dirty plate and soaped it clean, feeling the sponge squeak under his fingers. As he finally put it under the faucet to wash away the suds and move to place it on the rack, he finally let his mind wander to the boon that Tomoe had asked of Mayaka and him.

_"Please… Satoshi-kun, Ibara-san…" _

He closed his eyes, letting the memory engulf him.

_"But why? Why do this to Houtarou?" _

She had looked so sad. So, so sad…

_"This isn't healthy for him any longer." _

He had bristled indignantly.

_"Tomoe-san, Houtarou is no longer the child that you're thinking he is. He's capable of thinking for himself. What you're asking us to do is nothing short of betrayal from us who were supposed to back him up in his endeavors." _

_ "I understand that much, but would you rather see him destroy himself?" _

Her question had startled him. Mayaka as well, although she did try to cover up her scattered emotions even though she knew it would be unsuccessful. Satoshi, on the other hand, just let himself gape at Tomoe like an idiot.

_"What do you mean?" _

_ "Houtarou isn't exactly the type who'd express himself so openly. He prefers to bottle up his feelings instead of loosing them because he thinks that acting upon his emotions are foolish and a waste of energy on his part. And when that incident occurred…" _She had fought back her tears… Satoshi could barely… _"He seemed so quiet, so… so hollow. He had never been quite right ever since. And now, he was given a chance to atone for the sins that he imagined he had done… He'll search for her to the ends of the earth. Houtarou was never one to leave a task unfinished, nor one to leave a mistake unaccounted for."_

_She's… right. _

The doorbell rang, interrupting his reverie. He rushed to open it, having an inkling as to who it might be.

"Mayaka." He quietly surveyed the girl as he opened the door for her, her downcast eyes lifting to catch his. "What are we going to do now?"

"I don't know." She looked almost in agony. "He's your best friend. What do you want to do about it?"

"Tomoe-san's right, but…" Satoshi bowed his head. "This'll kill him. From his actions, I knew how much he has _hoped_… He has spent almost all of his life in the gray. Why not allow him to chase the person who gave him his first taste of the rose-colored life?"

"Fuku-chan."

"Mayaka. Please." Satoshi palmed his face and drew a deep breath. "Was it possible to do what she had asked in the first place? Answer me."

When Mayaka kept silent, Satoshi nodded wearily, and remembered Tomoe's last words before they went.

_"Please… Give me back my little brother." _

"It's hard on me as well," Mayaka finally replied. "Then… If you really don't want to… I guess… I'll go along with you on this one for once."

Satoshi's gratitude expressed itself in a crushing hug, his face lightening up for the first time in hours as he pressed his forehead against her shoulder.

* * *

_He waited, and he waited, and he waited. The cold misted his breath, the scarf snugly wound around his throat as he stood awkwardly by the steps leading to the shrine. _

_ A car pulled up by the curb, and he watched as a girl in an intricately-patterned kimono got off the vehicle. He kept his gaze steady as the girl turned, and to his pleasant surprise—_

_ "Oreki-san!" _Echoes of the past.

_ He appraised her clothing, the red _obijime_ apparent against her lavender-and-yellow-striped _obi_, her red kimono, and a purple _haori_ over it all, bringing out the color of her eyes; a little violet drawstring bag, tightly clasped in a delicate hand; the sakura flower pin on her hair, and her tiny feet in white _tabi_ and slipped in black _zori_. She showed every bit of the modest beauty that he hadn't acknowledged properly before. _

_ Her lips parted to form a greeting. _

_ "Happy new year."—a deep, perfect 45-degree bow. _

_ "Oh, happy new year." He awkwardly returned the bow. _

_ She kept the bow, as was proper. "Here's to many more for the both of us." _

_ And he maintained his as well, as was proper. "Thanks, you too. Let's have a good year." _

_ And when they both straightened out, considerably more embarrassed at the wall of formality that had sprung between them, she suddenly smiled brightly, and raised the hand that held the bag, shaking her arm so that her sleeve fluttered. "I came to show off my kimono!" _

_ He admired the sight of her, burning the picture deeply in his mind. _

_ "Well, shall we go?" _

_ "Mm."_

* * *

"Goodness, it's the little boy."

"I see you also work here. And… wasn't that just a violation of company rules?"

"I see you've sharpened your tongue more ever since we first met last time. Welcome home, _master_, then. Satisfied?" Donning a frilly maid outfit, Kouchi Ayako led Houtarou through the throng of occupied tables and pulled out a chair for him. When he had seated himself, she placed a menu in front of him and smiled wickedly. "So, should I serve you myself then? Or do you want to pick from the other girls?"

"I'll thank you to keep quiet, Kouchi-san." _What am I doing here anyway? Chitanda's not going to be here, dammit._

"I don't want your thanks." Ayako giggled when she saw Houtarou betray a flicker of annoyance. "Oh, and we've got a couple of newcomers. Maybe you can put them on trial. There's Chouko, although she's quite the talker—"

"Anyone quieter than you would do," Houtarou interrupted. _That would sap my energy even more…_

"Then, we have a shy one. Her name's Midori… Should I call for her then?"

Houtarou stared at her evenly. "On second thought, you'll do."

"Ooh. You're a masochist, aren't you?"

"Hardly." _I just don't like the idea of wasting another breath returning your serves._ "Oh, and I'd like a cup of Viennese cocoa."

"How cold." She pouted mockingly at him. "But that's what I like about you."

He looked down on the table as he was wont to do, his eyes barely registering the gaily patterned cloth covering its surface as his mind went over the past two weeks.

* * *

"_Oreki-san, what did you decide to major in from the second year onward?" _

_ He didn't have to think about it. "I chose arts." _

_ She smiled. "I chose science."_ Echoes of the past.

_ "…I see." _

_ They walked on, her head bowed in thought. "I don't mind coming back here, nor do I find it sad. I want to fulfill my duty as the daughter of the Chitanda family. I've been thinking all this time of a means by which I could do that." _

_ He frowned, bitterly. "A means, huh?" _

_ "There are two that I can think of." She paused, lightly. "One would be gaining wealth for everyone by producing high-value crops. The other would be optimizing production by management so that no one will end up worse than they are now." Another pause for breath. "In the end, I chose the former." _

_ He did not look at her. "That's why you chose science?" _

_ Simple, direct. "Yes."_

* * *

He frowned as another minute went by without his cocoa appearing, and he decided he had waited long enough. Surely Kouchi Ayako was teasing him again by testing his patience. But he was a customer, wasn't he? It was quite well within his rights to—

"Excuse me," he started, half-raising his hand to attract the attention of a passing maid waitress— and—

"Oh, you're leaving already, Midori-chan?"

"Yes… Please tell Kouchi-san, since I'm in a bit of a hurry…"

"Yeah… Oh, and have you already finished that novel I lent you? You've had it for quite a time now…"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Kanou-san… But can you please lend it to me for a little longer?"

His ears picked up the familiar timbre—

"For some reason, I can't stop thinking about it!"

_It can't be—_

He looked up, surprised, scared, as hopeful as hell— The maid that he had hailed before paused, attentive, waiting for his question, but he had already forgotten what—

"Well, okay, if you must… I won't keep you any longer then. See you, Midori-chan."

"Ah, yes. See you tomorrow!"

—And he saw her, _her_, the girl he was searching for, slipping out of the door and into the rain, her violet eyes skimming over him and flitting away without recognition of even the slightest kind.

Within a heartbeat, he had sprung out of his chair and had followed her already, pushing past a surprised Ayako who carried his cocoa, the rain masking the white noise inside his head.

He struggled on through the crowd blankly, even as he lost sight of her in the dark. He was soon soaked to the skin.

* * *

_He looked over his shoulder at the slender, pale figure of sixteen-year-old Chitanda Eru behind him, her arms spread out to catch the resilient spring breeze. _

_ "This is my place." He followed her eyes, the smell of the late cherry blossoms permeating strongly in the air. "All we have is water and soil. The people aren't getting any younger either. I don't think this place is the most beautiful ever, nor do I see that many possibilities here." Her voice, as if from a melody, filled his head. "But…" She looked down, and then he could catch a glimpse of the sweet, sweet girl that Chitanda Eru was— "I wanted to show it to you."_

_ He turned his head forward, and considered his words as he let them out one by one. "Speaking of which…" This is the moment, tell her—what you truly feel— _

_ And the moment passed. _

_ "Speaking of what…?" she prompted him. _

_ "Ah, um…" he blustered, hating his weakness immediately. "It's gotten cold lately, hasn't it?" _

_ "No." She smiled at his awkwardness. "It's already spring." _

Echoes of the past.

_ And the breeze carried the cherry blossom petals in a whirl of scent all around them, and he stared at her, and looked away when she smiled at _him_. _

_ They stood there, still, seemingly unchanging._

* * *

An illusion. All an illusion, that feeling that everything will remain unchanging.

"Oreki-kun?"

Irisu looked surprised when she saw Houtarou sprawled on the tatami mats in his apartment two days after attending a seminar, his eyes blankly appraising the ceiling. She may have experienced seeing Houtarou unleash his many hidden sides over the duration of the week, but she had never seen him like this before. He looked… empty.

"Oreki-kun."

"What." His voice was unusually rusty. Irisu frowned and edged forward toward him uneasily, her quiet gaze scanning his white face. Her hand reaching out involuntarily, she brushed off stray strands of his hair to touch his forehead.

"You got yourself with fever," she finally declared with an annoyed twitch of her lip. Taking his arm and dragging him up with surprising strength, Irisu helped him onto the futon, her dark hair framing her pale face as she bent over him. Her blue eyes were as severe as he had ever seen them. "What the hell have you been doing to yourself? I was only gone for a couple of days and now—!"

His throat was dry, but he still spoke painfully, desperate for her to understand. She must… she was the one who put him to the task… "I found Chitanda."

"What?" Her face had gone as completely white as his.

"I found her," he rasped, a smile spreading on his lips. And then he was laughing uncontrollably, his surroundings spinning, the scene as surreal as if he had just taken a dose of stimulants. "Irisu, I found her. And I let her slip away again… She hates me. She must hate me. She—"

"Oreki-kun!" Irisu shook him with a worried look, her mouth hard. "Oreki-kun… Perhaps it was all just a—"

And he didn't know why, or how, or when, but he was crying as hard as he had never cried before—

"No, this is reality," he bit out, his voice breaking. "I abandoned _her_. Don't you see? I was the one who left her to her fate. I _killed_ her existence. _I killed her. They blame me. I killed her._" The eyes of the Chitandas… Their accusing stares… His own parents, even…

"You've got it all wrong, Oreki-kun," Irisu tried to tell him, but his tortured face was paining her as well, and she knew that for the first time, logic wouldn't solve anything for the two of them, rational they may be normally. So she stopped talking, and simply let her arms encircle his shoulders as they finally began to shake. He lost himself in the wash of emotion as he grabbed Irisu's proffered shoulder and rose slightly from the floor to support himself against her body, willing the sobs that racked his body to slowly subside.

The darkness caught them in the same position, clinging tightly to each other, anchored in the disturbed past.

* * *

_He cracked his eyes open to the shadows that blanketed him. A single bulb dangled overhead to light up the place, but its failing light was inadequate to help him see any clearer than a rough outline of the girl who lay motionless across the room. _

_ "_Aggggkkkhh_…" he tried to test his voice, and felt the dryness of his throat. "Chitanda…" He couldn't speak normally above a whisper, although anything above a whisper would be too dangerous in this place. "Chitanda…" _

Echoes of the past.

_ He struggled to inch closer to the girl, his eyes straining to see her more clearly. "Chi—_tanda_…" He wheezed and coughed, the sound unpleasantly painful to his ears. A question formed hazily in his consciousness. _

_ Why were they suddenly alone? _

_ His feet were bound together with stout rope, but his hands were free. The treatment that he had received hours ago—he couldn't be sure of the time—had left his hands useless, so they deemed it safe to leave them untied. _

_ They were right about the useless part, mostly. His fingers were aching dully, the skin directly over the fractures swollen and red. He couldn't use them to lift anything heavier than a handkerchief, let alone push himself along the floor to get to her side more quickly. _

_ And so he made his way painfully, and marveling still more as their captors still didn't come… but he was already by Chitanda's side now, and he didn't hesitate as he grabbed her shoulder—the injuries screamed—and shook her… or rather, tried to. All he managed was roll her over on her back… and he gaped, stunned at what they had done to her. _

_ "Chitanda, at me," he said harshly, not about to believe his eyes. "Chitanda Eru, look at me. Look at me—at me _goddamit_!" _

_ His curse lost its impact when he choked on it, his eyes stinging. The girl did look at his direction, up at his face… but it seemed to him that she didn't really see him, her eyes vacant and wiped clean like a blank slate. And that was then when he noticed the blood on the side of her head, sluggishly traveling down her unruly hair before dripping thickly on the rough concrete. They looked like drops of ink to Houtarou's vision, on sickly white paper. _

_ He didn't have anything to tell him whether Chitanda's still alive since his fingers wouldn't help much to find her pulse, so he decided to rely on her temperature, and found that when he touched his elbow to her neck, she was still warm. That counted for something. _

_ "Chi… tanda…" He never felt so lost. And he knew that he had to fetch help. From where, he had no idea. _

_ So he undid the ropes that prevented his freedom, short, desperate whimpers breaking out from him whenever he tugged at a knot. He couldn't care less whether their captors were already returning— he had to run— quickly—_

_ "Tch!" The last knot undone, the ropes fell off and he stood unsteadily, his legs slowly remembering how to support him as he crept cautiously to the partially-opened door— Again, he noted how suspicious that looked. Where were they? _

Run, you idiot,_ he shouted at himself. _This is not the time to play detective, damn you.

_ And heeding his own advice, he stumbled out of the darkening, unguarded room, and ran out, ran out as his last bid to freedom, running like he had never done before in his life, not for himself, but for Chitanda's sake, for she mattered more than everything in his life—_

_ And then there was the darkness. It enveloped him, blinded him, drove him almost to the brink of insanity. _

_ The sounds of the falling rain befell his ears first, and then the sound of his own panicked breathing. It came out of him in short, sharp bursts, but when he automatically put his hand up on a wall that he just knew to be there to save himself from stumbling, he momentarily forgot how to breathe and simply cried out, falling sideways to the wall and hitting his shoulder as he caught his wrist, cradling it in his good hand. The pain of the forgotten fracture stilled him for a good while, as he felt the water seep in his socks and the raindrops drench the rest of his clothes. _

_ "Must… come back… Chitan—Chitan-da—" He crept forward, eyes searching in the unfathomable darkness, his teeth chattering at the cold. He felt like crying. The memory of her blank violet eyes, staring vacantly at him as he stumbled out of the temporarily unguarded room, haunted him. He had to find help._

_ Now._

_ Now._

_ Now—_

_ "_Now_…" He staggered his way through the dark, the wall supporting him, the floor unsteady under his feet. And then he stumbled and fell, his head hitting a rock— _

_ The darkness swallowed him whole, and he knew that he had lost the game. _

_ He had lost Chitanda._

* * *

In a room half-filled with dreams, the girl who changed her name sat up at the first touch of the sun, thinking… and remembering the man with the green eyes that she knew she had already found.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

* * *

I'm now starting my sophomore year in university, and might become busier as the days flow by.

Reviews are highly appreciated, and to all of the people who have reviewed, favorited, and followed me, thanks! They are really encouraging~

Hang on for the next update...

* * *

_And once the secondary characters have all converged from beyond the lines, their stories will become entangled with that of Oreki Houtarou's and Chitanda Eru's. _


	5. Overtaken

**Beyond the Lines**

* * *

_Because I end up shivering in even a bit of rain  
__I constantly seek out something certain  
__The gray, featureless world  
__Conflicts with my overflowing impulse_

—**Aozora no Kodou**, ChouCho (trans.)

* * *

_Overtaken_

* * *

Log No. 102334

**Atashi~** : how are you two holding up so far?

**Anonymous** : well… I think he's going to be fine

**Atashi~** : I should hope so, I'm quite worried

**Atashi~** : get him to eat as much as possible

**Atashi~** : even if he hasn't much of an appetite

**Anonymous** : ok

**Anonymous** : senpai

**Atashi~** : haha

**Atashi~** : still calling me senpai even after getting into college

**Atashi~** : but seriously, take care of him

**Atashi~** : he's precious to me after all

**Anonymous** : i just think that the proper honorifics should be applied

**Anonymous** : it's not a matter of being in different schools

**Anonymous** : and i know how strongly you feel for him

**Anonymous** : even if I was just an only child

**Atashi~** : you're too serious as always

**Anonymous** : I do respect you highly, you know

**Anonymous** : and I care for him as well

**Anonymous** : not just because he's your little brother

**Atashi~** : that's a relief

**Atashi~** : hey

**Atashi~** : are you really sure that this is going to turn out all right in the end?

**Anonymous** : honestly, i don't know

**Anonymous** : but so far, we've been in the right track

**Atashi~** : I see

**Atashi~** : then satoshi-kun's judgment could be right

**Atashi~** : i'm deciding to let him off the hook

**Anonymous** : ah

**Anonymous** : anyways, I have to go

**Atashi~** : yes, yes

**Atashi~** : again, i'm placing my brother's welfare in your hands

**Anonymous** : i'll take care of him, so don't worry senpai

**Anonymous** : good night

**Anonymous** has logged out

**Atashi~** : it's good to be young, isn't it…

**Atashi~** has logged out

* * *

When he finally woke up the next morning, Oreki Houtarou found himself all alone.

There was a certain effort in his movements, his arm slow as it reached for the glass of water left by Irisu Fuyumi on the floor beside his futon. The sunlight streaming through the windowpanes was eerily bright, as though hoping to trick him into thinking that the rain has passed.

Downing the glass in three huge swallows, he stood up with a dangerous swaying motion, feeling as if someone had just clubbed him over on the head and he hadn't quite recovered yet.

The single room was silent except for the faint sounds of traffic outside, the telephone still and the air stiller.

_I wonder if this is how zombies feel when they first rise from the grave. _

His bare feet made contact with the thick tatami as he headed over to the sink, the glass barely hitting the steel surface before he suddenly hunched over and retched, his empty stomach yielding nothing but a bit of water before he tasted bitterness at the back of his throat. Swallowing hard to try and control his nausea before he could actually cough up the substance, his trembling hands managed the abandoned glass under the faucet and filled it to the brim with the cold liquid.

He drank as though his life depended on it, filling up the glass again and again to try and sate his thirst. When he felt full, he abandoned the glass in the sink once more and turned away, fingers roughly combing back his bangs to expose his sweaty forehead. He felt hollow, and supposed that he should have something solid after all. He wondered if it would be worth it to spend his energy outside to buy himself something to eat, and was still wondering when Irisu Fuyumi entered his room, her face seemingly whiter than it actually was due to her dark hair.

She looked him over with a critical eye, and Houtarou looked away. He felt thankful when she promptly read the atmosphere and simply asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Mm."

The silence that fell between them was not like the heavy atmosphere yesterday, and Houtarou felt quite content with just eating the portion that Fuyumi handed him, setting the empty dish on the table with a murmur of thanks when he was done and refusing a second helping.

"Oreki-kun?"

He was halfway to sinking in the comfort of his futon again when she spoke out, her fingers busy on her lap, an eyebrow arched as was her wont.

"What?" He couldn't keep out the dead tone in his voice.

"Don't push yourself." She piled the glass on the dish and stood up slowly. "We cannot afford having you sick like this again." She looked him squarely in the eye, and Houtarou cannot tear away, green captured by blue, as she tightened her lip, kept silent, and turned her back on the young man.

* * *

Anjou Haruna blearily sat up on bed when she thought she heard someone walk past her bedroom door and out the main door. She was used to Midori waking up and leaving to go to work way before she did, so that wasn't the least out of order, but her light steps sounded so heavy these days. She wondered if something troubled her ward again…

Midori seemed like the type of person who tended to think much too deeply into things.

Haruna wondered if that was supposed to be a good or a bad thing… or if it was really just that double-sided.

She put her hand over the mobile phone under her pillow when she sensed it vibrating before bursting out into her favorite tune, knowing who would call in this time of morning. Flipping the phone open, she checked the caller ID and smiled when she proved her guess right.

"Good morning, Haru~" Kugayama Muneyoshi greeted her sleepily on the other end of the line. Haruna just giggled softly at his voice, imagining what a half-awake Muneyoshi would look like, his naturally-tousled red-brown hair her most favorite feature of his appearance. His best friend Jirou kept his own hair combed neatly most of the time, a stark antithesis to the effortlessly messy look that Muneyoshi sported. She supposed that it was just that way sometimes—people of the opposite characteristics always attract one another. Maybe that's why she liked Muneyoshi in the first place, she mused. He was more outgoing than she was—she liked to read in the quiet nooks in the library, while he liked to socialize out in the noisy school corridors.

"Good morning, Mune." She slid off the bed and stood up sinuously, stretching her arms by turns to favor holding her phone. She espied herself in the large mirror beside her closet, and watched as the Haruna in the mirror turned to stare back at her. "Didn't I say that it wasn't necessary for you to call every morning?"

It was one of the oddities of life, she mused, as she stood there, contemplating herself in the mirror. She was never as effortlessly pretty as Yuasa, nor as strong-willed as Kouchi, but somehow, somehow, Muneyoshi approached her and asked her out two years after their last face-to-face meeting—she liked to flatter herself that Mune had thought much of her ever since they were separated by the circumstances. Well, she wouldn't know what he was really thinking, even if she had asked him, now, would she…

"Just making up for the past two years," Muneyoshi replied, and Haru could almost hear the smile in his voice. "And I know that you're not very good at waking up in the mornings, so it serves a second, more useful purpose."

Haru laughed, admitting defeat. "I see."

"Anyway… I told Jirou."

Haru's brown eyes widened slightly, her free hand wandering to the manga volume that Midori had bought for her weeks ago, the brilliantly-colored cover glistening under her touch. "What… How did he react? Jirou?"

"Well, I think he's rather shocked, which is to be expected, but I can't remember if he sounded bitter about it." Haru could almost see Muneyoshi smile tentatively at his end of the line. "If he was, then I'd be disappointed in him."

"I did think he was the kind of guy who holds grudges over things and never forgets his regrets in life," Haru said slowly. "Right, Mune?"

"Mm." Muneyoshi smiled guiltily when a heavy silence fell, wishing that he hadn't brought the subject up.

Haru smiled tentatively. "By the way, care to meet up this afternoon? Ayako and I were planning to see each other in the café where she works. Also, maybe you can finally meet the girl I had taken in. She also works there."

Glad at the change of topic, Muneyoshi could only express his relieved yes.

* * *

The pair spent the rest of the late morning on the Fukubes' couch, watching a long, historical movie set during the Meiji Restoration. Mayaka, who didn't really put much stock in the historical fiction genre, was watching the movie absently, while Satoshi, who had avidly watched that particular movie about a hundred times already, was just content with letting Mayaka's fingers snake through the gaps between his and hold tightly. If truth be told, he found that intimate link between them infinitely more interesting than the film that he had chosen to watch.

"Fuku-chan?" he heard Mayaka murmur.

"Hmm?" His grip became firmer as they moved, her head shifting to allow herself to look up and at him.

"Yuasa-senp—_san_"—she corrected herself—"invited me to some cosplay event in Akiba next week. I was thinking that it'd be a great opportunity to finally see Akihabara, you know… I need to catch up on my collections and I had some extra money from my savings."

"Ah~ The Holy Land of cosplay and moe, huh?" Satoshi grinned as Mayaka's elbow landed an irritated but halfhearted blow in his stomach at the terms. "Send my regards to Yuasa-san, will you?"

"Eh? Do you know her personally?" Mayaka's eyes looked faintly suspicious.

Satoshi laughed, and nudged at Mayaka's elbow when she started digging it into his stomach again. "Well, well… what can I say… We're acquainted with each other, since she was the president of your Manga Lab back in the first two years of our high school. I was in General Affairs back then, remember? And I do have to thank a senpai who's so thoughtful to a kouhai like you~"

"What was that supposed to _mean_?"

"Ow! You're just imagining things!" Satoshi halfheartedly blocked Mayaka's equally halfhearted blows, his smile widening even more.

The phone on the side began ringing wildly, breaking the comfortable atmosphere between them. Sighing, Satoshi let go of Mayaka's grip and sauntered over to answer it, drawing the receiver by his ear. "Hello? Fukube residence… Ah? Yes, this is Satoshi… Tomoe-san, what might the matter be this time? …Mm. Eh, _seriously_? Okay, okay. Um, Tomoe-san, about that… Yeah. I changed my mind." A pause. "I'm taking this on, then. Mm. Thank you as well. Goodbye."

As Satoshi hung up, he smiled at Mayaka, who looked faintly curious as she stared from her seat. "You're in luck, Mayaka. I might have the opportunity to accompany you in your little trip to Akiba."

* * *

"_Had lunch?" _

"Huh?" Houtarou grumbled into the phone at Ayako's cheerful tone. "And how was it that you managed to learn the number of the phone in my apartment, again?"

_"Long story. But it involves me stalking you and smooth-talking your landlady." _

"Guh… You're just unbelievable…" Houtarou rumpled his hair with a vengeance, turning it into something that resembled a nest.

_"What's unbelievable is the fact that I have restrained myself from barging into your unit these past few days~" _

"I'll thank you to keep it that way."

_"Hehe~ Anyway, care to meet me for lunch? You really sound as if you need some sunshine. Did you get yourself drunk last night or something? If I remember correctly, you're not even old enough to legally drink. You really don't sound quite yourself... ANYWAY! Back on topic. Get your bum here as soon as possible. Have lunch with me." _

"Huh?" Houtarou said yet again. It seems as though they were back at the start. "And why would I do that?"

_"I'll need to hand you something. I could easily invite you over the phone, but they insisted on RSVP… Anyway, I'm waiting at this really neat place. Meet me at twenty minutes…" _

Houtarou listened to her coordinates, mumbled a reply, and hung up, a lock of hair breaking loose from the tangle and blocking his left eye. He sighed, picked up a comb, and grabbed the towel, determined to make Ayako wait.

* * *

Yamada Midori stared at the card that one of her other senpai, Sasagawa, handed her, the fine print and severely outlined borders giving the invitation an overall Victorian feel. She peered over the card to see her co-workers staring at theirs as Sasagawa went around handing every piece, the store still silent since they were still preparing before the opening time.

"It's nicely done," one of the girls, Shouko, a big fan of the lolita genre, exclaimed. "However, wouldn't sweet-lolita-themed cards be more attractive? We're a maid café after all."

"Well, the manager likes gothic lolita more," another put in.

"She _is_ quite the dictator…"

Some murmurs filled the place before Sasagawa sent them back to their work, sighing heavily at the momentary lapse in order. Midori, however, tugged at her sleeve as she walked past.

"Hm? Midori-chan, what was it?"

"The patrons are also invited?" Midori inquired to make sure, her purple eyes wide.

"Yup. We're a business after all. Even when celebrating our sixth month in the business, we should make an effort to contribute to sales."

"I see…" Midori smiled at this, and looked down at the card in her hand.

_He might come… He… _

_ He would come. _

_ I just know._

* * *

The fastfood restaurant that Ayako picked was unassuming, its features regular and gray. Houtarou wondered how much he'd already spent this week on food, and decided not to push through on the actual summation. He did suspect that fifty per cent of what he was eating now was from what Irisu always brings every time she swung by his apartment.

If one did not know better, one would say that Irisu was more like an older sister, or worse, a girlfriend.

Especially after last night. Houtarou quickly shook his head to clear his head of the fuzzy memories, getting embarrassed in spite of himself.

Opposite him, chewing on a double cheeseburger, sat Kouchi Ayako, her messy hair gathered in a messy ponytail. Her casual clothing looked rather strange in the bright incandescent lights. Or maybe that was what her sense of fashion had intended.

"I'm going to be straightforward, since I don't have all day and you just came in late." Ayako watched him through narrowed eyes. "We're holding a masquerade event this week in the café to celebrate our sixth month of business. The dress code is strictly lolita, but any kind will do. All the workers and regular patrons will be present."

"Mm." Houtarou pulled at his bangs as he stared at the book that he was reading, his intent expression hinting at Ayako that he was thinking rather hard about something else, rather than focusing on the novel itself, or on her, or on the invitation card that she had just slid on the table between them, for that matter. "What of it?"

"Hou~" Ayako frowned. "I have no idea why you just ran out of the café that one night, but…" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Have you found it? The reason why you came to Tokyo?"

He looked up and met Ayako's frank eyes. That night flashed in his mind, the phantom Eru's small back somewhat blurry in his failing memory. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"That's not very reassuring." Ayako leaned back. "Anyway, just come. Maybe you can find it again."

Houtarou remained silent, and Ayako stared hard at him, irritated.

"Suit yourself. I'm leaving." Finishing her burger, Ayako stood up and brushed off imaginary dirt from her jeans. She then went over to the nineteen-year-old and poked him between the eyes. "But you _absolutely_ have to come, arright? I'm expecting you!"

"…" Houtarou frowned at his book. _Did she just say "expect"?_

_ I never did like the word. _

_ But hasn't she a point there?_

* * *

Kugayama Muneyoshi waited on the corner of the street where a huge bookstore stood, his pleasant-looking eyes watching various people walk past him. Dressed in a classic, gray-and-white-checkered shirt with dark pants, some girls who passed him by glanced at him with admiring eyes, while a few actually asked him to pose for a picture with them, thinking he was a model. However, he politely declined the offers, keeping an apologetic face and a watchful eye in case the girl he was looking for was just standing a few feet, smiling at his predicament.

Haruna had never proven to be a jealous girlfriend, he thought, as he waited, and waited some more, his hands in his pockets as he tapped his shoe against concrete. She was more amused than insecure whenever she caught girls hitting on him whenever he stood alone in a public place. He was quite grateful for the trust that she was willing to extend to him, as well as satisfied with the growing confidence in herself.

"Mune!"

He swiveled around to see her running toward him across the street, her casual clothes amplifying her charm as she took his proffered arm in a natural motion.

"Been waiting long?" she asked him in a teasing tone, as though she was wondering if he'd lie or tell her the truth.

Of course, Mune picked the white lie.

"Just got here myself," he said nonchalantly.

Haruna glanced at her watch. "Haha, you're a really sloppy liar, Mune. You know that? The guy I know as Kugayama Muneyoshi arrives well before a specified time, and I'm five minutes late. Must be trying for you… sorry~ I won't dally next time."

"Well, if dallying before a walk would yield such good results, I wouldn't complain," Muneyoshi said with a smile, gesturing at her outfit.

She laughed. "Ever the silver-tongued president of Kamiyama High fame. Come, let's hurry. Ayako might be waiting as well."

The couple pushed through the thickening crowd of pedestrians, their hands clasped tightly between them as Haru dragged her boyfriend behind her. Above, before, and behind, the noise and lights of the electric town beckoned, and it was with a quick sigh when Mune finally pulled through the mass of humanity congregating in the streets, following Haru's lead to the quiet corner that housed the maid café which was to be their final destination.

"Even after a year in Tokyo, I never did get used to the bustle… especially when it's rush hour." Muneyoshi grimaced.

"I was the same when I first moved here as well, but I'm finally getting over it." Haruna smiled reassuringly and gripped his hand tighter. "You'll be fine. You're more outgoing than I was, after all."

"Still."

They found that they were one of the first customers, as the place was largely unoccupied as they walked past the tinkling of the opening door. The standard "welcome, masters!" greeted them as they took their first whiff of the shop, the sugar and spices in the air enough to make one disoriented.

"We've come to meet a friend," Haruna began, and the bespectacled maid that clutched their menus smiled at this.

"Oh, you must be Kouchi-san's friends. Come this way… Midori will be serving you shortly in my stead."

"Thank you," Muneyoshi put in, so as to not seem stiff, and the waitress blushed.

Haruna, as per usual, laughed lightly at this.

"_Ossu_, Haru. I was late coming here, but you two were even later."

"Sorry, Ayako. Just got held up a bit." Haruna acknowledged her at the boyish greeting, and they smiled at each other quickly before turning to Muneyoshi, who was standing awkwardly behind his girlfriend. With a laugh, Ayako drew a chair from a nearby vacant table and gestured for them to sit, which they did with good grace.

"Here's Midori-chan~" Ayako announced as she noticed the girl approach. "Look, Haru, she looks like those maids in manga, right? If she weren't so graceful, she would have been the perfect _dojikko_… Her face is perfect for the role. Much too innocent."

"Eh," Midori protested, having heard Ayako's comments as she was saying them loudly. "Kouchi-san…"

"Don't take it seriously, Midori-chan, Ayako is just really like that," Haru said with a calming smile. "Now, what would you recommend for us today?"

* * *

Irisu Fuyumi was a good daughter, or so she'd like to believe.

She had excellent grades, her classmates all look up to her superior leadership skills—she had been said to have the ability to find all the loopholes in a situation if she so wished—and she had been a dutiful child so far to her parents. She considered her beauty as only an additional bonus to her brains, a means to achieve her ends more quickly. After all, it was not as though she only relied on her looks alone to manipulate the people around her to perform all the roles that she had wanted them to do in her little skits.

And so the Empress Fuyumi sat at her study desk back at her dorm, the windows thrown open to welcome the light of the afternoon sun. Her light-colored blouse was casually unbuttoned so as to expose her slender neck, the chemise beneath in a dark blue color to accentuate her very pale skin. Her legs crossed absentmindedly under a peach skirt that reached above her knees, while her toes wiggled idly within fluffy white slippers.

The phone innocently placed on the desk along with her study materials lighted up and vibrated, the caller ID displaying a number that she hadn't registered yet. Warily, she picked it up.

"Hello? Irisu Fuyumi speaking."

"Hello. This is Oreki."

"Ah?" Hearing the masculine voice resonate in her ear, Fuyumi's brow instantly shot up. "For you to call, and our parting not being too long ago—this is quite unusual, Oreki-kun. Is there something urgent you'd like to discuss?"

"Well…" Houtarou's voice seemed quite awkward as he continued. "Could you… perhaps help me with something? It suddenly came up…"

As she listened to Houtarou's request, Irisu Fuyumi felt that this time, she was acting on something other than her duty as she stood up and stretched, a faint smile spreading on her lips.

"Of course, Oreki-kun. When shall we go, then?"

* * *

**STORY NOTES**

* * *

Drinking age in Japan is 21. Also, that's the age when people there don't anymore have to get parental consent to marry. Or so I've heard.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

* * *

Gah! Finally managed to finish this, and even then, it's shorter than the last two, three updates. Thank you for being patient!

Anyway, more new reviewers... And you all managed to convince me to get off my lazy bum and write and actually update.

Check out my new, experimental story: _Under the Veil_, which is a magical AU. Oreki's quite out-of-character there, but since his environment is different, that's justified.

Hang on, and a plot development is in line in the next one!


	6. Preparing for Takeoff

**Beyond the Lines**

* * *

_Just how much sadness were you hiding?  
__Just how much thoughts did you lock up in your heart?  
__I will exchange my strength for your pain,  
__and one day you can turn that strength into kindness_

—**Trust Me**, Matsushita Yuya (trans.)

* * *

_Preparing for Takeoff_

* * *

_"People remember their high school days as the high point of their lives. And people remember the high point of their lives as their high school days." _

_ I remember having said something like that last year. _

_ Two years ago might have been the high point of my life. That was when I first joined the Classics Club and met Chitanda Eru—who would become the club president, before me. _

_ Perhaps, Chitanda and Sekitani Jun are really two pages in the same book. The people around them were forced to say farewell before farewells were needed. _

_ But aren't farewells supposed to be spoken only when the other has truly left? _

_ So, maybe I should take that back. _

_ I'll say, instead, "Come back safely." _

_ The niece of time is bearing down on us. _

_ October –th, 2003. _

_ Oreki Houtarou. _

The elder sister stared ruefully at the written characters on the dark newsprint, and with a sigh, closed the anthology on her desk.

"Houtarou… Perhaps…"

The violet cover of _Hyouka_ fluttered slightly at the entering breeze, the drawing of a girl, standing on the beach with her back to the viewer, managing to look bleak against the background.

* * *

"So, a masquerade." Irisu Fuyumi looked at the neat rows of suits lined up in the shop, and the row of dresses on the other side. "Lucky thing we're in Tokyo. There was never a shortage of weird clothes in here."

Oreki Houtarou stopped directly across Fuyumi, a rack of clothes separating them like a wall. "I'm sorry for having to ask you to come with me," he said abruptly.

"Where, to the event or to this shop?" Fuyumi smiled lightly and moved on, not meeting Houtarou's eyes. "Frankly, if this is something that's connected to our search, then I have no objections. Have you something that you wished to show me there? Some clue?"

"Something more than a clue," Houtarou said shortly, picking a simple outfit from the bar and checking the tag. "I do hope my sister's not going to kill me if this accidentally empties her account…"

"Well, you're not going to plunge recklessly into this if you're not sure anyway, are you?" Fuyumi mused, and picked out a well-cut black one from the pile. "If you're going to splurge on some clothes anyway, then pick something that's going to suit you well." She held up the one that she had pulled out. "Try something of this style."

"That…" Houtarou frowned, and came over to take the items from Fuyumi. He stared at it for a minute. "It looks rather… elaborate," seeing that it was complete with a coat that made him look like the classic phantom thief from an old movie.

"It goes well with your build," Fuyumi remarked, a crooked smile on her lip. "Try it on."

* * *

"The thing is, why suddenly see the need to go to Tokyo?"

"I'm just on Tomoe-san's case. Tagging along, shall we say."

"But you refused her the first time, right?" Ibara Mayaka frowned at Fukube Satoshi over her shoulder while she worked, the pan on the stove sizzling musically as she deftly placed the battered vegetables in oil. "Why did you change your mind?"

"Because I can't help but feel that there's something very wrong in the picture," Satoshi said vehemently, pausing in stitching the ripped seam of a white drawstring bag when he looked up to meet Mayaka's inquisitive eyes. "You heard what Tomoe-san said that day when she called us up to their house, right?"

"What about it?"

"That Houtarou thinks he was given a chance to atone for the sins that he _imagined_ he had done… And that he was never one to leave _a task unfinished_." Satoshi made a false stitch and sighed, remedying the mistake as he talked. He could feel Mayaka's eyes on him. "Tomoe-san has left us the bait. The first time, I didn't see it, so I refused." Satoshi finally finished sewing up the last few centimeters of the bag, and cut up the end of the thread with scissors. "But now… The implications are quite…"

Mayaka looked quite serious. "Should we pay Oreki-san a visit?"

Satoshi nodded. "Yes. We should."

A quick lunch soon followed, and the pair was instantly on the way to the Orekis' house. Satoshi made a call to alert Tomoe that they will be dropping by shortly, and it was with a grave countenance that they faced Tomoe's bright, knowing smile.

"I guess you'd finally figured something out, Satoshi-kun?" Tomoe greeted them, letting them in the house.

With a murmur of thanks, they hurriedly went in, Satoshi talking all the while as they were led around the dining table. "Tomoe-san, I've been haunted by what you had told us, and I figured that there was something that was out of place in the whole situation."

"What is it?" Tomoe said, smiling.

"The fact that Houtarou waited two whole years to go and find Chitanda-san." Satoshi gripped at the knees of his pants. "And the fact that even though Chitanda-san was only missing for two years and wasn't even confirmed dead, the Chitanda family had already constructed a grave marker for her. Wasn't that highly irregular? Even they waited for a long time before declaring Sekitani Jun, who was quite estranged from the family, legally dead. There are other holes, but…"

Mayaka nodded. "I've never really understood why, myself."

Tomoe clapped her hands. "You are a rather apt observer, Satoshi-kun."

"Thank you, Tomoe-san. But then… Houtarou…" Satoshi paused, and looked up to meet Tomoe's eyes, as green as her brother's but infinitely wiser. "He... Was there a possibility that he was somehow… Somehow…"

"Yes, Satoshi-kun. I have considered the possibility." Tomoe smiled down at her hands, clutching each other on her lap. "But could we have tea over this? I'd like to keep myself busy while explaining something very vital that we all might have overlooked when this first came about."

* * *

Houtarou's shadowed eyes peered at Fuyumi from under the brim of his top hat.

"I look ridiculous," he muttered.

Fuyumi laughed lightly. "You're quite handsome when you bother to dress up. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"You can leave it at that." Houtarou pulled at his hat so that it covered half of his face.

Fuyumi flipped her hair with a practiced motion, amused. "You seem unused to compliments from girls, Oreki-kun. Or maybe compliments from anyone, for that matter."

"I try to keep my image in the shadow," Houtarou replied stoutly. "Only sometimes guys like Satoshi like to blow up everything out of proportion."

"You really think so?" Fuyumi tried on a black hat with a huge red feather, and glanced over at Houtarou. "You think they blew up your talents out of proportion?"

Houtarou smiled wryly. "Irisu-san, you are in no position to criticize my stand on this issue, remember?"

Fuyumi smiled, and Houtarou thought that sadness flashed in her blue eyes, which were normally so icy and bottomless. "Perhaps. But opinions change over time, and lies eventually become truth over the years."

Houtarou seemed thoughtful at this.

"True, Irisu-san," he finally said, and in return, Fuyumi saw a strange look pass on his face. Was it of the silent fury that only someone like Houtarou can fully unleash? "Lies do eventually become truth over the years."

* * *

Anjou Haruna had emerged from her room to take a break from writing a research paper for a literary theory class when she saw Midori huddled against the large window that overlooked the back street, rocking herself gently. A cold glass of iced tea was set down before her on the sill, looking almost lonely in the dim sunlight.

"Midori?" Haru called out tentatively, almost at a whisper.

"Ah… Anjou-san." Midori looked back, and Haru was relieved to see that she was instantly back to the old Midori.

Or, who was the old Midori, really? An amnesiac searching for the key to her memories in the midst of a city that she didn't know, surrounded by people she can't fully trust?

Haru didn't really know how she would answer had she been asked that question.

She smiled at the girl instead. "Are you okay? You look as if something's bothering you."

"N-no. It might be nothing at all." Midori finally smiled back, and Haru could sense it again—a fluctuating wave of emotion beneath her gentle exterior.

"Well, I'm not going to pester you into telling me." Haru came over to sit with Midori at the sill, pushing the iced tea glass away to make room for herself. "Anyway… the other day, you told me that you think you've seen the guy in your dreams already."

"Mm." Midori looked down. "But as the days pass without seeing him again… I'm beginning to think that it had all been a figment of my imagination…"

Haru scowled. "Don't give up now, when it's so late in the game."

"Mm." Midori smiled, and met Haru's brown eyes with her violet ones. "This time around, surely…"

* * *

"Something vital?" Satoshi asked.

"Yes," Tomoe said softly, waiting for the water to boil. "Something that concerned the aftermath of that event, and set the gears in motion."

"W-What might that be…?" Mayaka asked in a hush.

"Satoshi-kun, I don't recall we've ever told you the full extent of what Houtarou had experienced in that abandoned warehouse the day the both of them were abducted."

Satoshi nodded. "Yeah."

"According to his recollections, the both of them were incapacitated by their captors in such a way so that when they wake up, they won't have the ability to get away," Tomoe began.

"I seem to remember that he had been left broken some fingers," Satoshi remembered.

"Yeah." Tomoe leaned against the counter and stared at the kettle. "And have you remembered that, aside from his external injuries, his head had experienced a serious knock?"

"Mm." Satoshi remembered to breathe.

In, out. In, out.

"That's why Houtarou was out cold for a month, right?" he finally said in a rush.

"Yes. You have a good memory, Satoshi-kun." Tomoe smiled slightly. "However, it was not the same for Houtarou back then. When he woke up, we asked him where they were taken captive, what their captors looked like, how they abducted the two of them."

"And…?" Satoshi felt his chest tighten.

"What he replied was so absurdly out of place, that it took us a long moment to digest what he just said." Tomoe palmed the left half of her face, and her right eye remained uncovered, staring at the kettle on the stove. "He said it really, quite simply."

* * *

Houtarou pulled back the curtains and stepped outside, back in his casual clothing. His eyes held a faint doubt in them as he placed the clothes on the counter.

The cashier scanned the pieces one by one, and announced the amount.

Houtarou placed the card on the smooth countertop. "Take it out of savings, please."

"Yes, understood."

Houtarou listened to the beep as the girl swiped the card.

_Beep. _

The sound was clean and crisp.

_Beep, beep,_ his mind repeated the sound from memory.

* * *

"What was it that he said?" Satoshi asked when Tomoe seemed too distracted to continue. When she looked back up, they could see the haunted look in Tomoe's eyes.

" 'I'm sorry, aneki'."

The kettle began to whistle, shrilly.

* * *

"Thank you for waiting, Oreki-kun," Fuyumi told Houtarou with a fleeting glance as they stepped out into the moist air, the noise of the city assuaging their ears once more. Houtarou thought how loud the cicadas in Kamiyama would be at this time of season, and then wiped the thought away as quickly as it had come unbidden.

"I don't really think I had a choice in the matter," was what Houtarou replied, glumly.

"I'm glad you understand that," Fuyumi answered back sweetly.

They made their way to Houtarou's apartment, Houtarou's expression unreadable as he unlocked the door. The almost-empty room greeted him, the bland walls silent.

White.

Like a faint echo, he remembered a memory of two years ago.

* * *

_"What do you mean, Houtarou? What are you saying?" —His sister looking troubled. _

I'm sorry, mom, dad.

I'm sorry, aneki.

I'm sorry, Chitanda's parents.

I'm sorry, everyone.

_ "I'm sorry, aneki," he just repeated, blankly. _

* * *

"Apparently, the shock that his brain had received had obliterated all the memories that he had been holding two hours prior the incident, and an indeterminable time during it. He's the only eyewitness for the incident, and yet…"

"So that's what you meant back then, Tomoe-san," Satoshi interjected, looking as if one of the pieces had already clicked by the way his eyes brightened. "This was the missing link that I had been looking for. Houtarou's lapses in memory during the incident. I didn't really want to ask Houtarou about the incident so I didn't know about his amnesia..."

"I see." Tomoe poured out the tea into cups and served them to her guests, her green eyes shadowy as she devoted herself to the task. "But then, there is another thing that didn't make much sense."

"What is it?" Mayaka asked with a determination that Satoshi could only associate with a detective on the scent.

"Houtarou told us that when he last saw Chitanda Eru, she was bleeding from a wound on her head. That was one of the reasons why the police were thinking that she was either dead by then, or incapable of returning to Kamiyama for any reason."

"Yes…"

"But when the police had turned the place upside down…" Tomoe looked thoughtful. "They did not found anything that could have suggested that this really occurred. There were no bloodstains anywhere."

Satoshi and Mayaka looked surprised.

"Nothing at all?" Satoshi breathed. "But…?"

"Yes, and although some seem to dismiss it as Houtarou's confusion because of the trauma, I believe otherwise." Tomoe stared at her own teacup, the dim surface reflecting her face back at her. "And if my theory is correct… I'm afraid there is the possibility that Houtarou might disappear along with Chitanda Eru the moment he makes contact with her."

* * *

"Oreki-kun?"

Fuyumi's voice snapped him back to his senses.

He stared down at the new clothes in the bag, and thought deeply.

Somehow, even without his knowing it, the chain of events that he had initiated had entered its second phase.

It was now a race for time.

* * *

Log. No. 102340

**Anonymous** : senpai

**Anonymous** :

**Anonymous** : …

**Atashi~** : ah, what is it this time?

**Anonymous** : there's something I'd like to talk to you about

**Atashi~** : love problems?

**Anonymous** : senpai, stop joking

**Anonymous** : I'm serious

**Atashi~** : ehe~ sorry

**Atashi~** : but what is it?

**Anonymous** : there's something really curious about him

**Atashi~** : you know houtarou, he's like that

**Atashi~** : if he's acting weird, just make sure he doesn't do something stupid

**Anonymous** : that's not the problem

**Atashi~** : oh?

**Anonymous** : is there a possibility

**Anonymous** : that he was…

**Atashi~** : yeah

**Atashi~** : he's the most boring guy in the world

**Anonymous** : senpai…

**Atashi~** : joking, ehe~

**Atashi**~ : but if your suspicions are the same as mine

**Atashi**~ : then you know how important this is for him

**Anonymous** : you might be right

**Anonymous** : but how did this happen?

**Atashi**~ : fukube satoshi will be over in Tokyo tomorrow evening

**Atashi**~ : and if you can find chitanda eru in the interval,

**Atashi**~ : that would be great

**Atashi**~ : she is the key to this whole mess

**Atashi**~ has logged out

* * *

Log. No. - - - - - -

[**houtaru** is offline]

[**L** is offline]

**houtaru **has logged in

**houtaru **:

**houtaru **:

**houtaru **has logged out

**L** has logged in

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

* * *

This one was even shorter, but since it's actually one chapter split into two parts, I guess that accounts for it.

Not quite the plot development you'd been expecting? Ehehe~ I wonder if the next one will hold "that" one~

I'm at a crossroads here, and wondering which path to take. Loose ends abound.

To all those who reviewed: Thank you for the continuing motivation! Reviews are like a writer's drugs. xD

* * *

**Next chapter**: A masquerade in Tokyo, and a frantic late start from Kamiyama. A scene from a Victorian novel, that found its way into the heart of Japan.


	7. The Flight

**Beyond the Lines**

* * *

_You say you're holding out your hands for my sake  
__But isn't that a collar you're holding?  
__Just take me away, oh my Romeo,  
__To afar, until they scold us_

—**Romeo and Cinderella**, Hatsune Miku (trans.)

* * *

_The Flight_

* * *

THE PAST

"_People remember their high school days as the high point of their lives. And people remember the high point of their lives as their high school days."_

The club room of the Classics Club, or more commonly known to the students of Kamiyama High School as the Earth Science prep room, was silent except for the scratching of pen against paper.

The club president, a second-year of seventeen years of age, looked unusually serious as he worked, his pen making neat marks on the pages of the notebook as he slowly filled them up with varied versions of the essay that he was working on.

"I've never seen you this serious before. Did something happen?"

The door had slid open as he was writing intently, the newcomer dumping a bag on a chair as he spoke.

"Not really." The president tilted the chair back, and stared up at the ceiling as a momentary writer's block staggered him.

"She's bringing us the details of the publishing later."

"Mm." The chair returned to support itself on its four legs again, and the writer twirled his pen. Another stalemate descended the room.

"Once we graduate the year after next, the Classics Club will be left without members again." His friend broke the silence once more, as though feeling the weight of the silence.

"Mm." Struck by a sudden inspiration, he wrote some more.

Scratch, scratch.

"Hey, Houtarou."

"What?"

Fukube Satoshi smiled wistfully at the notebook lying between the two of them. "I suppose we were pretty surprised by you this year."

"Why?" Oreki Houtarou looked away, his scowl involuntary.

"I mean, who'd guess you'd actually volunteer to become club president after Chitanda-sa—? Oh. Sorry. Sorry."

The Classics Club president, one Oreki Houtarou of seventeen years of age, tilted his head, the sunlight, filtering through the wide window, failing to reach his green eyes, while Satoshi bit his lip.

"Yeah," he finally said with a deadly quiet, slapping the notebook closed. "Who would have?"

He kept his mouth shut after that, and Satoshi felt guilty for bringing up her name.

* * *

_People say these things because everyone holds fond memories of their time in high school. However, I doubt that every high school student would want to remember their school life that way._

"Ah. The Classics Club president, eh?" The current head of the General Affairs committee, Okada Tohru, didn't look as approachable as Tanabe Jirou had been last year, but Houtarou still braved the troublesome task of appealing for a favorable spot in this year's culture festival, his usually downturned lip pulled in a smile that would amuse Satoshi (and creep out Ibara) as he placed his request form on the desk.

Okada frowned at the form and looked back up at Houtarou's uncomfortably forced expression, his eyebrow lifting. "I'm sorry, but I don't think we can afford to give you a more popular space where you can sell your merchandise. If I wasn't mistaken, the only object on your list was an anthology, right?"

Houtarou was getting tired of the conversation, although technically he hadn't said anything yet. So he decided to make the use of the term official. "Yeah," he managed, dropping the smile at the other's snide tone when Okada mentioned the "only object on your list".

"So what makes you say that we should grant you a better place? There's no guarantee that you'll sell well. I don't think anthologies are a popular item on the festival lineup."

Houtarou merely looked bored and decided to fight the ice with his own brand of freezing fire. "Oh, I see. Shall we take this up to Tanabe Jirou-san then? I believe my friend has his phone number. If he's not too busy…"

Okada looked confused. "What has Tanabe-san got to do with this? I'm the head of General Affairs now."

"Well, you see," Houtarou said slowly, his shoulders drooping, "That is the point. Tanabe-san is the one in charge of General Affairs last year. He can attest to the fact that we of the Classics Club had, indeed, sold out all copies of _Hyouka_ in the last culture festival, both over the counter and through the online store. With enough advertisement and publicity, I think we can manage the feat again this year."

Okada looked dubious. "The Juumoji incident last year was the catalyst that helped boost your sales. Do you perhaps think that a similar case would somehow occur this year as well?"

"It certainly helped," Houtarou agreed, "but I don't think that's the only factor. Last year, we discovered strategies to counter the problems of the Classic Club's obscurity here in the school." He put his hands in his pockets nonchalantly and leaned forward. "Shall we think of a compromise then?"

* * *

_For example, if neither studying, nor sports, nor socializing are of interest to someone, what then?_

"Oh, Oreki-kun."

The cool, collected voice that called out to him as he started on the corridor one warm Friday afternoon made Houtarou stop in his tracks, some copy papers rolled in one fist and a bag slung over a shoulder.

He turned, and confirmed his guess.

"Irisu-senpai."

"Hello." Irisu Fuyumi eyed the copy papers, smiling that naturally cool, detached smile of hers. "You've been busy."

He gave her a bland look. "…Was it so unusual?"

"I didn't mean for it to sound like that."

"…"

"How are the Classic Club's preparations for the culture festival?"

"Fine."

"You seem subdued today." Fuyumi strolled up to his side effortlessly, her expression mellowing as she took in Houtarou's exhausted look. "Been running negotiations with the student council?"

"Mm." They started onward, their strides matching each other. Houtarou shrugged his bag further up his shoulder when one of the straps seemed in danger of slipping. "We've split up the work between us three, with myself carrying the bulk because Ibara and Satoshi have other clubs to worry about. At least we controlled the number of copies this year. I hate to say this, but Okada was right—Ibara's mistake last year might have cost us a lot if the Juumoji incident hadn't occurred."

He didn't mean to sound so wordy, but somehow, Fuyumi seemed like the right person to spill his gut to. She must be dealing with stuff like this a lot.

After all, the Empress did not earn her title by just sitting around and looking pretty.

"So, it's natural we'd be worn thin," he finished.

"Ah. So I've heard." Fuyumi followed him without faltering as Houtarou returned the club room key on its hook in the faculty office and erased his name on the white space below. "If you'd like, should I go up and argue your case over?"

"No," Houtarou said shortly, without batting an eyelash.

Fuyumi smiled lightly. "You might be misconstruing my intentions," she said with a level tone, keeping in step with him. "I simply wanted to return the favor that I owed you last year. You've helped me out in the movie, and—"

"Don't mention it. And I meant that quite literally, senpai."—a sarcastic edge was already creeping in his tone, but he squashed it prematurely. He meant to be civil to Fuyumi this time.

She laughed. "Sorry. So does that mean you'll think of something? Your time is running out."

"I'm aware." They had reached the entrance hall now, and Houtarou went straight to his locker without wasting a beat. "And maybe I should thank you for offering to help, but…" He changed his indoor slippers for the leather shoes, slipping them on neatly and placing the slippers in the locker before closing it. He stared at his name printed in neat characters on the door, thinking.

"But?" Fuyumi prompted him, head tilted.

"But sadly, _I_'m the president of the Classics Club." Houtarou walked away slowly, a step at a time, copy papers in one hand and bag slung in other shoulder. "And this is my problem."

Irisu Fuyumi watched him go, noting how Oreki Houtarou's back seemed to bear all the weight of his world as he walked away.

* * *

_What if there are students who prefer to keep a low profile?_

Fukube Satoshi hummed as he finished sewing the rip on the leg of his blue PE pants, the scissors snipping the end of the thread neatly. Admiring his handiwork for a while, he put back the scissors in the kit and put everything away, only to be disturbed by the ringing of his mobile phone.

"Hello?"

"Fuku-chan."

"Ah, Mayaka." Satoshi sat cross-legged on the floor, his many brightly-colored needlework crafts staring down at him, lined up as they were on the wall like a sort of procession. "What's the matter?"

"I just needed to sort out some of the stuff that we'll do for the culture fest to promote _Hyouka_."

"Eh~" Satoshi scooted over next to the wall to rest against it, looking up at the ceiling. "I think I'm joining the quiz this year as well."

"And we can't join this year's Wild Fire because…" Mayaka trailed off, hesitant.

"Yeah, I don't think Houtarou'll join us," Satoshi said, trying to sound cheery as well as to steer off the topic at the same time. Neither one of them were ready to talk about it yet. "And we need him to man the base, right? We should just focus on the individual and pair events."

"Mm." Mayaka paused for a moment, and then carried on. "Hey, Fuku-chan…"

"Yep?"

"Let's do our best this year as well."

"Yeah!" Satoshi grinned encouragingly and nodded as well, quite forgetting that he hadn't an audience and, realizing that, decided not to care. "That's a given!"

* * *

_Though, I guess that would be a pretty lonely way to live._

He wrote the last line of his essay hesitantly, and, finally finished, the pen fell with a clatter on the floor as he drew his arms over his head.

Meanwhile, the sunlight streamed in, turning his drooping dark eyes into emeralds.

"Chitanda, I'm tired," he mumbled, sleepily. "Was this how you felt running around last year?"

He entertained himself for a moment by imagining that he could hear a pattering of small, quick footsteps enter the clubroom and pause to let their owner occupy the chair opposite him, and a gentle voice that said, "Oreki-san, are you feeling well?" But when the fantasy ended, the chair opposite him remained unoccupied.

His head dropped gently sideways on the desk, and gathering his arms about him, he slept a peaceful sleep.

And the boy of one and a half years ago again dreamed of the girl that should have been sitting before him now.

* * *

THE PRESENT

He felt out-of-place in his new clothes.

The mask that covered the right half of his face felt oddly heavy and constricting, while his hands shook and felt too warm in his white gloves. The top hat was placed haphazardly on his wavy hair, while the monocle that was on his left eye glinted every time the light struck it, lending him the kind of look that a highly-polished plate might have were it stuck in a very brightly lit place—elegant, but uncomfortable. He felt as though his bow tie was slowly strangling him by the second.

Beside him, Irisu Fuyumi stood easily, her slender, tall figure laced in a classic lolita number that looked impossibly tight to Houtarou's eyes. "Are you all right?" he ventured to say, glancing at Fuyumi's considerably smaller waistline, restrained as it was by the corset.

"Yes, I'm holding up quite well." Fuyumi smiled lightly. "This corset really enhances my bust though, doesn't it?"

"Huh? Er…" Houtarou coughed awkwardly and turned away to avoid the question with a considerably bemused face. Noticing his boyish response, Fuyumi's smile grew in her amusement.

"These past few days would have been impossible for the past Oreki-kun," Fuyumi remarked, tapping her fan on her other arm in time with the music. "We were all over the place. What does this place hold for us?"

"Hopefully, this place would hold _her_," Houtarou returned tersely, eyes squinting to see more clearly through the holes in his mask. He clenched his hand in his pocket for want of something to occupy himself, but knew that he shouldn't take his eyes off the sea of blacks, whites, and pastels all around him.

Fuyumi hummed, raising an eyebrow. "Really… I see. So there is something tangible behind this sudden stroke of frivolity, after all."

"That wasn't a compliment, was it?"

"Take it as you will."

"Tell me one thing," Houtarou said with some hesitation after a bit of thinking.

"What is it?"

"Aren't you tired already?"

Her eyes shone with a curious light. "What? The party has just started."

"No, that's not what I meant."

Fuyumi smiled evenly at this. "Well, if that's the case, then I'd still say that no, I'm not tired of this. I'm the one who first threw you your lifeline, and you clung to it. That's all. In a sense, I have no right to abandon someone I dragged into this. And the Chitandas are a family friend." She hesitated, her eyes almost like chips of burning ice. "I'm just… helping them as well."

"I see." Houtarou looked away, watching the crowd once more through his limited vision. "Thank you."

If he had been looking, he would have noticed that Fuyumi's smile became rather strained.

"No problem," she replied with an unchanged tone, surprising herself, and it miraculously fooled them both.

* * *

He was drowning in the energy of thirty people, and look hard as he might, the masks that covered the visages of passersby did not help him in his confusion. They looked like bright birds to his mind's eye, dressed up in frill and lace and silk.

"I see you've come. Brought your girlfriend as well?" Kouchi Ayako, her voice immediately alerting Houtarou to her identity, pushed to his side, a wide smile visible as the white mask didn't reach the lower half of her face. She had two people behind her, one a blue-masked girl with rich dark hair that fell in waves past her shoulders, the other a black-and-white-checker-masked young man that followed closely behind the girl. Houtarou might have placed them as either very close friends or lovers, but stayed silent.

"She's not my girlfriend," Houtarou said crossly as she gestured at Fuyumi, who was standing some distance off, smiling blandly at a flirtatious young man who was cracking lame jokes. "She's a junior of my sister back in high school."

"Hmm~" Ayako chuckled a bit, but held back. "Well, let me introduce to a couple of high school friends of mine. Well, at least she was."—pointing at the girl, who smiled at Houtarou very kindly—"Her name is Anjou Haruna. Haru, this kid here is Oreki Houtarou. Boring name, but will do. He's some hopeless romantic. That's almost all of what I know about him. Well, there's actually some more, but I guess it's rather confidential—"

"Almost fifty per cent of what you had just said was unnecessary," Houtarou pointed out, while wondering why the name Anjou was so familiar.

However, Anjou Haruna just smiled. "Eh, Ayako, go easy with the jokes, will you?"

"Softie." The girls snickered, while Houtarou thought, College sure drives even the most well-mannered kids mad.

"Anyway, nice to meet you, Oreki-san." Anjou smiled lightly at him.

"Meanwhile, here is her boyfriend. Kugayama Muneyoshi-sama." Ayako beckoned at the taller young man, who inclined his head. Houtarou returned it with a nod.

"I'm Kugayama," he introduced himself, bowing his head.

"Oreki." Houtarou bowed back, wondering again at why the names seemed so familiar.

"Anyway, Haruna here is a literature student at college, while Muneyoshi-sama is taking up pol-sci." Ayako crossed her arms and beamed proudly at the two, who smiled awkwardly back. "They had a bit of history with my branch of art a long time ago when we were still freshmen in high school—they drew this manga and put it up for the culture festival. They surprisingly sold fast. Mune draws exceedingly well for someone like him."

Muneyoshi chuckled, abashed. "I only drew for a hobby," he said with a self-deprecatory tone. "I'm sure the readers appreciated Haru's story more than my art."

"Nonsense," Haruna told off her boyfriend with a severe tone which surprised Houtarou, as Haruna's voice seemed rather sweet at normal tones. "The art is the first thing that the readers see—the story comes afterward. That's why I know that your art is really good. They wouldn't have picked the manga up if not for the beauty of the cover."

"Well, the saying 'Don't judge a book by its cover' did seem rather obsolete when it comes to the graphic novel genre," Ayako observed wisely.

Haru nodded, and then, Houtarou, who was frowning rather intensely and tugging at his bangs, suddenly burst out—

"Ah!"

"Eh?"—Ayako.

The others looked equally curious.

Houtarou's eyes were wide as he said, with an outstretched finger—

"Ajimu Takuha!"

The resulting shocked silence between the four of them descended like a wave.

"Where… did you…?" Haru said in a voice frozen with surprise.

"…And how?" Mune said with round eyes. "I don't think… anyone figured out who…"

"I see, that's why the names seemed so familiar," Oreki frowned. "You're Kugayama, the student council president when I was a freshman at Kamiyama High School. And Anjou Haruna… I'm not sure, but I think I've heard about her from Tanabe-san after all the fuss that the Juumonji… or, more correctly, the 'Juumoji' incident. Sorry. I'm rather bad at names."

"Not so bad that you'd remember ours," Mune said, his expression still unbelieving. "And if that's the Juumoji case, then that'd be two years ago. Right?"

"Right." Houtarou seemed hesitant at first, and then—

"YOU. BASTARD!"

He was suddenly engaged in a furious headlock from behind, courtesy of Ayako, who was grinning yet enraged at the same time. "All this time and you didn't tell me we came from the same goddamn place!"

"Ayako, mouth's getting out of control," Haru said, amused despite herself. "And you're in a skirt…"

"You—didn't—ask—me!" Houtarou managed to gasp, and Ayako, deciding to let him off with some choice bits of mercy left, dropped down and glared at him with a feral smile. "I don't think I'd willingly tell people that in here voluntarily. I doubt that even some of them knew where Kamiyama was on the map."

"You have to admit that he has a point, Kouchi," Mune said, smiling.

"Still, I can't believe this," Haru said, now with a wondering tone, as he looked Houtarou up and down. "Wait, you said your name was Oreki?"

"Yeah." Houtarou smiled uneasily. "Don't tell me you also know my sister… Anjou-san," he added after some hesitation.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I did," Haru said with a smile. "I was a Classics Club member for one year. I met her there, as a senpai."

_You sure do get around, aneki,_ Houtarou thought, the uncomfortable smile still on his face. He imagined that the mask must have obstructed half of it.

"Coincidences, eh?" was what he managed, refraining from mentioning that he had been a Classics Club member as well.

"Mmhmm," Haru remarked happily. "And you knew Jirou?"

"Well… my friend was in the General Affairs committee when Tanabe-san was its head." Houtarou silently pictured the genial, neat appearance of the guy, but found that the details were shaky.

_I really am bad at associating names with faces,_ he thought.

"Oreki-kun?"—he recognized Fuyumi's voice, calling for him in the crowd and getting closer.

_Bad. This is bad. Talk about the worst timing… _

Muneyoshi's exhale of breath was audible. "I must be dreaming," he said with an awestruck tone. "If it wasn't the Empress Irisu."

"Oh, Kugayama-san? Fancy meeting you here." Fuyumi was as cold and as collected as ever, Houtarou admiring her composure as she joined their gathering. "How's your mother doing?"

"Ah, very well," Muneyoshi said with a strained laugh. Houtarou took this as his cue to slip away from the group, but Fuyumi grabbed his arm with a precision that he did not at all like.

"Oh, and I see you've met Oreki-senpai's younger brother," she said with a cool smile, and Houtarou could see the old, manipulative Irisu Fuyumi behind the mask.

He sensed that it was going to be a long night. For him and for Irisu both—and for various reasons.

* * *

Midori sidled through the crowd, the skirt of her black-and-purple-checkered goth-loli dress flouncing with every step she took, owing to the amount of petticoats beneath. She thought she saw Ayako, Haruna, and Muneyoshi in the crowd earlier, but since they looked busy talking to some acquaintance, a tall young lady with a coldly calculating look, she passed them by discreetly, her eyes, framed by a white mask, looking away so as to not attract attention.

She looked around at the guests, curiously watching some who were flashier than the others. The food was placed on a long table, with caterers standing by to help people serve themselves. Since it was somewhat of a celebration for the store itself, the manager decreed that the workers all enjoy themselves for this day.

The introductory ceremonies were slated to begin at eight, and so Midori checked her watch and saw that it was already due. The lights dimming on cue, she observed some of the regulars as they ushered people away from the center to make room. Sasagawa steered the night into a formal start with an enthusiastic greeting, and announced that they will begin with some games.

Midori watched as some guests got roped into joining, and whiled away the time by wandering to the wall and sticking there.

* * *

"Tomoe," her father called her that evening as they nodded over dinner. The smell of the rice that she had burnt accidentally was still in the air, but getting fainter by the second.

Tomoe supposed that even one can get used to the smell of burnt rice.

"Ah, yes, what is it, dad?" she asked pleasantly, reaching over for the water. She filled up her emptied glass carefully, and watched as air bubbles rose to the surface.

"How's Houtarou doing?" he said with an involuntary frown, making Tomoe smile. Houtarou had taken after the Oreki patriarch too much, even down to the awkward personality. "He hadn't called when we were away, had he?"

"I called him, once," Tomoe said, choosing her words carefully. "He seemed fine to me."

Fortunately, to their father, a man of few words himself, this seemed to suffice. "I see."

"Are you really sure you didn't want to hear his reason for leaving?" Tomoe asked, in spite of herself.

The elder Oreki smiled blandly. "Houtarou's my son, and he's nineteen already. I know that he wouldn't do anything reckless like other kids his age. Not because he hasn't the motivation to do so like them, as in the past, but because this time around, he thinks. He rationalizes before he acts. Much like you do as well."

Tomoe smiled gratefully. "I wonder how Houtarou would have felt hearing that from you, dad." And then, noticing her father's rice bowl, "Seconds? This rice has quite the distinct flavor, hasn't it?"

* * *

Fuyumi cannot remember when Houtarou had slipped away from her grasp, the crowd confused as it was. So when she finally realized that her left hand was free, she felt a strange sense of loss.

She remembered Tomoe's words when they last talked over the net.

_just make sure he doesn't do something stupid… but if your suspicions are the same as mine… she is the key to this whole mess… _

She looked around discreetly, knowing that if Houtarou got to Eru before she did, there would be dire consequences—not just for the pair of them, but also for the people around them.

So she hesitated, for the briefest fraction of a second.

_Is this truly right? _

_ Senpai? _

_ Oreki-kun?_

_ Eru?_

And hating herself, began to move.

* * *

Seeing Ayako standing in a corner, her mask already off (_she was always never one to conceal her presence, anyway,_ Midori thought amusedly), Midori approached her, a smile at the ready. Noticing her as she neared, Ayako smiled and waved with an energetic motion.

"Where's Anjou-san?"

"Ah, her boyfriend saw an acquaintance by chance and pulled her away," Ayako said with a shrug, and smiled widely. "Wait, you remember that guy I told you about ages ago? The one I wanted you to meet because you two were kinda similar?"

"Ah, yes. Is he here?" And Midori peered interestedly into the crowd.

"Well, that's the funny part. He's actually a guy from my high school, and he recognized Muneyoshi. You knew that Muneyoshi was once student council president, right? Well, that's that. And he's a friend of Mune's acquaintance as well…"

"It truly is a small world," Midori said, smiling.

"Right?" Ayako laughed. Then, she noticed the sudden change in atmosphere as the place darkened further, leaving behind colored lights to spin all around the room. "Ah, is it the dance already? Excuse me, Midori… I have to find Haru. She promised me her first dance, y'know. Best friend before boyfriend. Never mind if we're both girls, it's a free country. See you."

Giggling, Midori waved goodbye as Ayako fought her way through the milling crowd, forgetting herself for a bit and going to the edge of the clearing, where the floor was being cleared for the first pairs to dance.

She waited—

* * *

He was hurrying, the ticking of the watch on his wrist loud in his ears—

* * *

She stood there for a while, smiling at the sea of lights that flickered on the floor—

* * *

He was looking around, and caught sight of the girl with the violet eyes across the clearing—

* * *

She watched, looking up, imagining that she had seen a flash of green as someone swept away from the edge of the crowd—

* * *

He pushed, and shoved, and nearer, he saw her back, her small back, and her cropped black hair that streamed to just below her shoulders—

* * *

She smiled, and sighed, and let her hands fall to her sides as the music began—

* * *

He reached out, to touch the little hand, gloved in black lace—

* * *

And made contact.

* * *

She was not surprised in the least when someone took her hand from behind and pulled her so that she turned around. She could see his eyes, and knew that if the light were brighter, they would be the familiar shade of dark green that she loved.

She immediately forgot Yamada Midori, and discarded the identity like the mask that she took off.

* * *

"_Wait for me, Chitanda."_

* * *

The promise of long ago was finally being fulfilled.

"What took you so long?" she murmured, through tears, and adhering to his motto for the first true time in two long years, Oreki Houtarou did not waste the moment, taking off his mask and pulling Chitanda Eru close as the chaos of the dance began all around them.

Her whisper in his ear was distinctly urgent.

"_Take me with you._"

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

* * *

Everything suddenly was double edged…


End file.
